v\r|7 * 



/OUNG MAN 



WILLIAMS 




COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 



ONE YOUNG MAN 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/oneyoungmansimpl01hodd 



ONE YOUNG MAN 



THE SIMPLE AND TRUE STORY OF A CLERK WHO 
ENLISTED IN I914, WHO FOUGHT ON THE WESTERN 
FRONT FOR NEARLY TWO YEARS, WAS SEVERELY 
WOUNDED AT THE BATTLE OF THE SOMME, AND 
IS NOW ON HIS WAY BACK TO HIS DESK 



EDITED BY 

J. E. HODDER -WILLIAMS 

AUTHOR 
"THE LIFE OF SIR GEOi.GE WILLIAMS" 




NEW YORK 
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 






COPYRIGHT, I9I 7, 
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



^4 1917 

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

©CI.A462652 



TO THE GREATLY BELOVED MEMORY 

OF 

ONE YOUNG MAN 

WHO FOUNDED THE Y.M.C.A. 

MY UNCLE 

SIR GEORGE WILLIAMS 



"We have all been arrested by the sudden uprising 
of so many thousands of young men, and the conse- 
cration of the flower of the rising generation to the ser- 
vice of their country. Sometimes we have heard men 
make light of their motives, and ascribe it all to the 
martial spirit of the time, or the love of adventure, or 
even to the contagion of the example of others. But 
these young men who left us with a few difficult words 
of farewell have gone down not only to the horror of 
the battle-field, but to the gates of death as they made 
the supreme sacrifice. By what have they been moved? 
They have been moved not merely by patriotism, and 
not only by a moral indignation and a passionate sym- 
pathy with the wronged. Even had they been moved 
by these things alone, we should have recognised that 
such a spirit is born of God. But the deeper truth is 
that they have been moved by a faith which makes 
them kinsmen of Christ in the spirit of His sacrifice. 
We do not say that they have made Christ's sacrifice, 
but we do say that they have made their own through 
a vivid understanding of its meaning and an accept- 
ance of His grace. They gained them the victory over 
the world by their faith in Jesus." — From The Evangel 
of the Strait Gate, by W. M. Clow. 



CONTENTS 



I. Introdxtces One Young Man . n 

II. One Young Man Joins the Army . 25 

III. One Young Man in Camp 33 

IV. One Young Man on Active Service 45 
V. One Young Man at Hill 60 . . . 57 

VI. One Young Man Receives a Letter 77 

VII. One Young Man in the Salient . 87 

VIII. One Young Man's Sunday ... 95 

IX. One Young Man on Trek . . . 103 

X. One Young Man Answers Questions 117 

XI. One Young Man's Leave . . . . 127 

XII. One Young Man Again in the 

Trenches 133 

XIII. One Young Man Gets a "Blighty" 149 



INTRODUCES ONE YOUNG MAN 



CHAPTER I 

INTRODUCES ONE) YOUNG MAN 



The; boys in the office were, I fancy, a bit 
prejudiced against him before he arrived. 
It wasn't his fault, for he was a stranger to 
them all, but it got about that the "dear 
old chief" had decided to engage a real good 
Sunday-school boy. Some one had heard 
him say, or, more likely, thought it would 
be funny to imagine him saying, that the ad- 
vent of such a boy might "improve the gen- 
eral tone" of the place. That, you'll admit, 
was pretty rough on Sydney Baxter — the 
boy in question. Now Sydney Baxter is 
not his real name, but this I can vouch is 
his true story. For the most part it is told 
exactly in his own words. You'll admit its 



12 ONE YOUNG MAN 

truth when you have read it, for there isn't 
a line in it which will stretch your imagina- 
tion a hair's breadth. It's the plain unvar- 
nished tale of an average young man who 
joined the army because he considered it his 
duty — who fought for many months. That's 
why I am trying to record it; for if I tell 
it truly I shall have written the story of many 
— I shall have written a page of the nation's 
history. 

And so I need not warn you at the be- 
ginning that this book does not end with a 
V.C. and cheering throngs. It may possi- 
bly end with wedding bells, but you will agree 
there's nothing out of the common about 
that — and a good job too. 

I think on the whole I will keep Sydney 
Baxter's real name to myself. For one 
thing he is still in the army; for another 
he is expected back at the same office when 
he is discharged from hospital. It's rather 
beginning at the wrong end to mention the 
hospital at this stage, but, as I've done so, 



INTRODUCES ONE YOUNG MAN 13 

I'd better explain that after going unscathed 
through Ypres and Hill 60, and all the trench 
warfare that followed, Sydney Baxter was 
wounded in nine places at the first Battle of 
the Scmme on that ever-glorious and terri- 
ble firs: of July. He is, as I write, waiting 
for a glass eye; he has a silver plate where 
part of his frontal bone used to be; is minus 
one whole finger, and the best part of a sec- 
ond. He is deep scarred from his eyelid to 
his hair. I can tell you he looks as if he had 
been through it. Well, he has. 

He was nicknamed "Gig-lamps" in the 
office. He wore large spectacles and his face 
was unhealthily lacking in traces of the open 
air. He was in demeanour a very typical 
son of religious parents — well brought up, 
shielded, shepherded, a little spoiled, a little 
soft perhaps, and, maybe, a trifle self-con- 
sciously righteous. A good boy, a home boy. 
No need for me to pile on the adjectives — 
you know exactly the kind of chap he was. 



14 ONE YOUNG MAN 

One more thing, however, and very impor- 
tant, — he had a sense of humour and he was 
uniformly good-tempered and willing. That 
is why, in a short time, the prejudice of the 
office gave way to open approval. "Young 
Baxter may be a 'pi' youth, but he's quick 
at his job, and nothing's too much trouble 
for him," said his boss. And against their 
previous judgment the boys liked him. He 
could see a joke. He was a good sort. 

Curiously enough it was the Y.M.C.A. 
that first introduced Sydney Baxter to what, 
for want of a better term, we will call the 
sporting side of life. There's a fine sporting 
side to every real Englishman's life — don't 
let there be any mistake about that. "He is 
a sportsman" is not, as a few excellent peo- 
ple seem to believe, a term of reproach. It 
is one of the highest honours conferred on 
an officer by the men he commands. And 
in the ranks "a good sport" is often another 
way of spelling "a hero." 

It was, as I say, at the Y.M.C.A. that this 



INTRODUCES ONE YOUNG MAN 15 

one young man was first taken out of him- 
self and his quiet home surroundings, first 
became interested in the convivialities of 
life. In those days, to be quite frank about 
it, a certain settled staidness of demeanour, 
a decided aloofness from the outside world, 
marked many religious households. A book 
of unexceptional moral tone, and probably 
containing what was known as "definite 
teaching," was the main relaxation after 
working hours — that, and an occasional 
meeting and some secretarial work for a re- 
ligious or charitable society. Companions, 
if any, were very carefully chosen by the 
parents. Well, war has changed all that — 
it has even chosen our very bed-fellows for 
us. And no questions to be asked, either. 

It is often assumed by those who know no 
better that such a home as Sydney Baxter's 
produces either prigs or profligates. As a 
matter of fact, one of the reasons of this 
book is to prove that out of such a home may 
come, I believe often does come, the best 



16 ONE YOUNG MAN 

i 

type of Englishman — a Christian sports- 
man, a man who rights all the better iof his 
country because he has been taught Irom 
childhood to fear God and hate iniquity. 

But it was well for Sydney Baxter that he 
prepared for the chances and quick changes 
of his military life by learning how to make 
the best of his hitherto hidden gift of com- 
panionship. 

This is how it came about. 



One afternoon in early autumn (he 
writes) a card was put into the hands of 
every young man in our office, inviting us 
to a tea and social evening at the Y.M.C.A. 
Headquarters. The chaps said to me, "Of 
course yon are going, Baxter?" and I an- 
swered, "Why not?" They, however, 
seemed to be of the opinion that the tea was, 
more or less, a bait to a prayer-meeting or 
something of that kind. However, several 
went, expecting, and preparing themselves 
for, the worst. We were welcomed by a 
group of gentlemen who seemed to be pos- 
sessors of smiles of permanency; they con- 



INTRODUCES ONE YOUNG MAN 17 

ducted us to a large room already well filled 
with others like ourselves, whom we incor- 
rectly judged to be members, as they seemed 
to be quite at home. In every corner of 
the room were lounge chairs and on the 
tables games of all descriptions. Here and 
there small groups were being entertained 
by the members, and, judging by the unre- 
strained merriment, they were proving them- 
selves very capable hosts. 

We were told to make ourselves abso- 
lutely at home; and although we entered 
with zest into all that was going on, I don't 
think really that we quite lost the feeling 
that a prayer-meeting was bound to follow. 
Much to our surprise no one came up and 
spoke to us about our souls ; indeed our hosts 
led the way into all the fun that was go- 
ing, and none of them had the milk-and-bun 
expression of countenance that we had con- 
jured up in our mind's eye. You can see 
what our conception of Y.M.C.A. members 
was. We imagined them a narrow-minded 
set of some mild kind of religious fanatics. 

I promised a veracious chronicle, and I 
am quoting Sydney Baxter word for word. 



18 ONE YOUNG MAN 

I am inclined to believe that here he is ex- 
pressing his companions' anxieties rather 
than his own. 

The tea gong sounded and our hosts led 
the way to another large room, and upon 
the tables was a sumptuous spread. Being 
young men we did full justice to it, and 
throughout the whole of tea time this same 
atmosphere of sociability surrounded us. 

After tea we were escorted to the lecture 
room, and, although it is too long ago to 
remember who the speakers were, and what 
the subjects, I do know it was most enjoy- 
able. At the conclusion we were given a 
hearty welcome to come and use the rooms 
every evening for reading, writing, or social 
intercourse and games. The following morn- 
ing in the office we all agreed that we had 
had a most enjoyable evening, and that we 
had badly misjudged the Y.M.C.A. A few 
of us took advantage of the invitation and 
went again, and received the same warm 
welcome and had another enjoyable evening. 
Shortly afterwards three of us joined the 
Association. Until this time I had no idea 



INTRODUCES ONE YOUNG MAN 19 

of the magnitude of the Association's 
work; my idea was that little existed outside 
of the Headquarters and the smaller 
branches over the country. This was some 
eight years ago. Now every one knows the 
Y.M.C.A. I soon got into the stream and 
found I was in the midst of a large number 
of football, cricket, swimming, and rowing 
enthusiasts. The teams that the Associa- 
tion clubs put into the field and on the river 
were very strong. The sports side of the 
Y.M.C.A. w r as indeed a revelation. 

So it was that Sydney Baxter's evenings 
and week-ends were often spent with his 
fellows in various Y.M.C.A. organisations. 
He was anxious to get on, and the Associa- 
tion classes helped him, too, in his business 
education. Ambitious of advancement in 
the office, he had noted that his schooling 
was lacking in certain essentials if he was 
to be fit when the opportunity arrived. He 
rose quickly in the business and was soon do- 
ing responsible work. He was one of those 
fellows who get ready for the day when 



20 ONE YOUNG MAN 

their chance may come. It always does come 
to such as Sydney Baxter. 

The Association tackled the holiday prob- 
lem for this young man too. This is how 
he describes his first visit to one of the 
Y.M.C.A. hotels. He calls them hotels him- 
self, and I am not surprised, for such they 
really are. A "home," though a beautiful 
word, does not, somehow, in this connection 
convey the proper idea of these Y.M.C.A. 
holiday resorts. "A home from home" — 
well you know! 

I went down entirely on my own. I was 
at that time a very reserved chap, and I 
had misgivings as to the probability of mak- 
ing chums. I shared my room with a young 
Frenchman, who fortunately could speak 
English quite well, and thus we were saved 
embarrassing silence and aloofness. 

Tea gong sounded, and as we made our 
way into the passage we were literally car- 
ried along in the stream of young men, new- 
comers in their lounge suits, the others 
mostly in flannels. On we swept, down the 



INTRODUCES ONE YOUNG MAN 21 

stairs into the large dining-hall. Sit where 
you please, act as if you had been here all 
your life and treat every one as an old pal, 
seemed to be the order of the day, and in 
that atmosphere it was impossible to feel 
anything but quite at home. Before tea was 
over we new arrivals were infected with 
the same spirit of joviality, and were ready 
for the first "rag." 

I was shown the house and grounds by 
an old boarder. In addition to the lounge, 
writing and smoking-rooms, there was a 
dark-room for developing, a fully rigged 
"gym," and billiard-room; and so, in in- 
clement weather, every amusement was at 
hand. In the grounds were tennis courts 
and croquet lawns. 

Every week drives were arranged to the 
beauty-spots and historical places round 
about, but I appreciated most the facilities 
offered by a temporary membership of the 
boating club for the absurdly small sum of 
2>s. 6d. per week. For this one could have 
a skiff or, if a party, a large boat, any day 
for any length of time, bathing costume and 
fishing tackle thrown in. I took full advan- 



22 ONE YOUNG MAN 

tage of this, and most mornings and after- 
noons were spent on the water. We used 
to pull over to the obsolete battleships that 
lay in the stretch of water between us and 
the mainland. Here we would tether up 
and turn the gangway into a diving plat- 
form. Happy indeed were these days spent 
with companions who were in every sense 
of the word sportsmen and gentlemen. 

Sportsmen and gentlemen — a new desig- 
nation, perhaps, to some who have judged 
these young fellows by hearsay only. It's 
Sydney Baxter's, not mine. And he ought 
to know well what the words mean after 
two years in a line regiment at the front. 



ONE YOUNG MAN JOINS THE 
ARMY 



CHAPTER II 

ONE YOUNG MAN JOINS THE ARMY 



Sydney Baxter was most decidedly getting 
on in business. And then the war came. 
I do not want you to have the impression 
that, at this time, he was one of those sturdy, 
strapping chaps who gladly rushed into the 
ranks for the very joy of fighting. There 
were thousands of them, I know, a glorious 
breed, but Sydney Baxter was not of that 
build. So that there may be no mistake let 
me give his own words. They are frank 
enough to be convincing. 

When war fell upon Europe I was one 
of those foolish people who imagined that 
the Kaiser and his army would be completely 

25 



26 ONE YOUNG MAN 

crushed before Xmas 1914. For the first 
two months I never gave a thought to the 
possibility of my becoming a soldier. I 
couldn't imagine myself with a rifle and 
bayonet chasing Huns, or standing the 
rough-and-ready life of the soldier, and the 
thought of blood was horrible. I had worn 
glasses since I was a boy of twelve, and 
for that reason, among others, I had not 
learnt the art of self-defence where quick- 
ness of vision is half the battle. From ap- 
pearances and manners one would have 
ticketed me as a Conscientious Objector. 
I thank God I had not that conception of 
my duty to Him. 

And so Sydney Baxter went on with his 
work. There was plenty to do. Reservists 
had been called up. Opportunities of ad- 
vancement were many. Some must stay and 
"keep the home fires burning." You know 
all the arguments, all the self-justifications 
of those days. His chance had undoubtedly 
arrived. He was badly needed in the of- 
fice. You shall read his own confession. 



ONE YOUNG MAN JOINS THE ARMY 27 

It was well into October before I realised 
the Call to Arms was a personal one, and 
that the Hun was not so easily to be beaten. 
The treatment of the Belgians hit me very- 
hard, and, but for my home circumstances, I 
should have donned khaki straight away. My 
position was just this. My father had died 
some few months before, and left to my 
care my mother and my sister. Their pro- 
tection was my solemn charge — there was 
no doubt about it in my mind. And yet, 
what was my duty? To fight — or to stay 
and look after our little home? It is a prob- 
lem that thousands of us young men have 
had to wrestle with, and for several days 
I wrestled with it alone. Mother was purely 
neutral; she refused to influence me either 
way. Mother-like she could not encourage 
my going, but she would never lift a finger to 
deter me. Her answer was that it was en- 
tirely a matter of what / conscientiously felt 
was my foremost duty. I never went near 
a recruiting meeting, so that I should not 
be carried away by enthusiasm to the recruit- 
ing office. I must decide when my thoughts 
were cool and collected. The second week 



28 ONE YOUNG MAN 

in November brought the climax. I knew 
my duty was to fight. 

So I enlisted in a London Territorial Regi- 
ment whose first battalion was already in 
France and would require frequent drafts. 
I did not hesitate about joining a fighting 
unit. Other units are very necessary, but 
I wouldn't let another man do my fighting 
for me. I had some difficulty about a 
slightly weak heart caused by a severe ill- 
ness a few years before. However, with 
the words that "the life would either make 
or break me" I was accepted for active 
service. 

I am told that Sydney Baxter omits one 
thing here. Unlike so many in those early 
days, when he announced to the chief that he 
had joined, he asked no question about any 
possible allowance. He asked no advice, he 
suggested no help. He just joined. All he 
said was, "I felt I had to go, sir, and my 
mother says it will be all right. She says she 
will be able to manage quite well." Let me 
pay my tribute to this one young man's 



ONE YOUNG MAN JOINS THE ARMY 29 

mother. There are so many like her that I 
pay it to thousands. Not only did she re- 
fuse to put obstacles in the way, but she 
would have no bargaining with patriotism. 
"She would manage quite well." It meant 
more boarders in the little home, it meant 
the breaking up of the old sweet privacy and 
quietude of the household, but — she would 
manage quite well. God knows the heart- 
ache and the sorrow behind the sacrifice she 
and the thousands like her have made — 
a sacrifice surely very acceptable in His 
sight. 



ONE YOUNG MAN IN CAMP 



CHAPTER III 

ONE YOUNG MAN IN CAMP 



Within a fortnight this one young- man was 
in camp at Crowborough. The contrast to 
his previous life as a city clerk, where real 
mud was unknown and wet feet a rare oc- 
currence, was marked indeed. The camp 
was sodden, the mud ankle-deep, and, what 
with that and the cold November weather, 
times were pretty stiff. 

Our camp is about a foot deep in mud and 
slosh, he writes home, and every time you 
go out your boots are covered and you have 
to be careful or you slip over. 

Our huts are like Church Missions. There 
are sixty-one fellows in this one, and all 

33 



34 ONE YOUNG MAN 

along the sides are our mattresses which 
we fold up. They are made of straw and 
are really very comfortable. The only draw- 
back is that in the morning you find your 
toes sticking out at the other end of the 
bed. I must tell you how these beds are 
made. There are three planks about six 
feet in length, and these are placed side by 
side on two trestles about ten inches high. 
They give us three blankets, very thick and 
warm, and you can roll them round your- 
self. 

Right down the centre of the room are 
long trestled tables with forms to sit on, and 
this is where we feast. We sleep, eat, drink, 
play games, write letters, and do everything 
in this room. 

It's very funny to hear the bugle-calls. 
Everything is done by bugles. At 6.30 in 
the morning there is the first call and every 
one gets up. If you don't — the sergeant 
comes along and pulls you out. To wash 
we have to run down to the other end of 
the camp and fill our buckets. There are 
only two buckets for sixty chaps, so you can 
imagine the scramble. For a bathroom we 



ONE YOUNG MAN IN CAMP 35 

have a large field, and we nearly break our 
backs bending down over the basins. For 
about one hour before breakfast we do phys- 
ical drill with our coats off. And hard work 
it is. For breakfast we have streaky greasy 
bacon. Funny — at home I never ate bacon, 
I couldn't stick it, but here I walk into it 
and enjoy it. The tea they give us is not 
ideal, but so long as it is hot and wet it 
goes down all right. For dinner it's stew 
— stew — stew, but it's not bad. Of course 
some day I get all gravy and no meat, an- 
other day meat and no gravy. Tea is quite 
all right. We have plenty of bread, butter, 
jam, and cheese. All food is fetched in 
dixeys (large boilers), and tea, stew, and 
bacon are all cooked in turn in these, so if 
the orderlies don't wash them clean at din- 
ner time we have greasy, stewy tea. 

I am getting a bit used to the marching, 
especially when there is any one singing. 
The favourites are "John Peel," "Cock Rob- 
in," "Oh, who will o'er the downs so free?" 
"John Brown's Body," "Hearts of Oak," 
and "Annie Laurie." We all have little 
books of Camp Songs, and we learn them 



36 ONE YOUNG MAN 

at night; it makes all the difference to the 
marching. One of the songs is: 

Oh, Mother is the leader of society, and 

You can see her name is in the papers every day. 

She was presented at the court 

For fighting Mrs. Short 

Down our way. 

Not an exactly edifying song, but it goes 
with a swing. I can hardly keep my eyes 
open as I write this. 

On the whole and considering everything 
— a wide phrase covering many things un- 
spoken — Sydney Baxter enjoyed his camp 
life, but Christmas was certainly a hard- 
ship. He writes: 

Christmas Day, 1914. 

All day yesterday I was on fatigue work, 
and did not finish until 7.30 to 8. We started 
the morning by building a hedge with bushes 
gathered from the Heath, and then we un- 
loaded trucks of hay and straw and built 
them in a stack. I got several stray pieces 
down my neck. After that we had to unload 



ONE YOUNG MAN IN CAMP 37 

a traction load of coal in one-cwt. sacks, 
and oh, they were dirty and awkward too. 
We had sacks over our heads like ordinary 
coalmen, and you ought to have seen our 
hands and faces when we had finished. 
We could not get any tea, as we were ex- 
pecting three more trolleys. After about 
two hours the trolleys came, and we un- 
loaded some meat; it took three of us to 
lift some of the pieces. Then after that 
bacon, oats, tea, jam, and about 1,000 loaves 
of bread. We were proper Jacks-of-all- 
trades and were thoroughly tired out. 

This seems a funny sort of Christmas 
Day, but it will be all right after five o'clock. 
Of course I'd rather be in London and see 
you all. Still, all the same I'm rather enjoy- 
ing myself this afternoon. I have a big box 
of chocs, by the side of me, and they are 
gradually diminishing. And now I feel in a 
better mood. 

The Y.M., as it is now always called by 
the men at and from the front, played a very 
important part, an invaluable part, in Syd- 
ney Baxter's camp life. 



38 ONE YOUNG MAN 

We were about twenty minutes' walk 
from the village, and at first there was abso- 
lutely nothing there to go down for, and 
we seemed doomed to a very uncomfortable 
winter. However, the words of a well- 
known war-song, "Every cloud is silver 
lined," are very true. Our cloud was soon 
brightly lined by the Y.M. people, who dis- 
covered the best way to do it in no time. 
A hall was acquired in the village for the 
sale of tea and eatables, and for facilitating 
writing and reading for the troops in camp. 
It was staffed by ladies in the locality and 
was a real Godsend to us all. Picture us 
from 6.30 a.m. to 4 p.m. on and off parade, 
in a muddy camp, without even a semblance 
of a canteen or writing-hut, always within 
sound of the bugle with its ever-recurring 
call for Orderly Sergeants, tired out and 
wet through and inwardly chafing at the un- 
accustomed discipline. Our spirits were on 
a par with Bairnsfather's "Fed-up one." 
At the last note of "The Retreat" we were 
free. Without the Y.M. touch we should 
have had to stay in our bleak huts, con- 
stantly reminded of our surroundings and 



ONE YOUNG MAN IN CAMP 30 

discomforts. But these Y.M. people had 
provided a comfortable, well-lighted and, 
above all, warm room, with plenty of books 
and papers and any amount of grub and un- 
limited tea to wash it down. Isn't it won- 
derful how many sorrows the British army 
can drown in a cup of tea? 

Apparently there's no need to tell the Y.M. 
people to "get a move on," for before two 
months had elapsed they installed in the very 
centre of the camp a large canteen, with a 
reading- and writing-room. It made a big 
difference to us, as we had the advantage 
of procuring a midday cup of tea, coffee, 
or cocoa, and such luxuries as biscuits and 
chocolate, also an evening's enjoyment, with- 
out the weary trudge to and from the vil- 
lage. As the vaccinations and inoculations 
were in progress at that time, the warm 
room was a blessing and eased the weari- 
some day which would have had to be spent 
in camp. More and more huts were erected, 
and more and more men occupied them; so 
a very large new Y.M. hut was quickly built 
near the camps and was opened in state, 
some fifty of us forming a Guard of 



40 ONE YOUNG MAN 

Honour. It was a splendid building — its 
greatest attraction the billiard tables. Night 
after night we waited our turn for a game. 
At the long counter were a library and post 
office ; the latter was most useful, for a let- 
ter could be written and posted without any 
delay whatever. Refreshments were, as 
usual, obtained at any time. There was not 
the slightest fuss; any one could enter and 
do exactly as he wished. There is a genuine 
Y.M. atmosphere which makes a fellow feel 
"at home." It says, "We are here because 
we feel we are 'kind of wanted' here for 
your individual comfort: this is your show, 
and we are happy and anxious to do all we 
can for you. Come at any time and bring 
all your chums." 

Sydney Baxter's chief saw him once or 
twice during these camp days. And he mar- 
velled. The spectacles had gone. The lank, 
round-shouldered figure had filled and 
straightened. Suddenly a man had been 
born. A soldier, too. This fellow of the 
pen and ledger, this very type of the British 
clerk who had never handled a rifle in his 



ONE YOUNG MAN IN CAMP 41 

life and didn't know the smell of powder 
from eau de Cologne, who had never experi- 
enced anything of hardship, or even discom- 
fort; whose outlook in life had not hitherto 
stretched beyond a higher seat at the office 
desk, to whom the great passions of life were 
a sealed book, — this fellow passed his shoot- 
ing and other tests in record time. 

He was in France within sixteen weeks 
of joining the army. 

Those were very dark days in England, 
but the sight of this one young man cheered 
the chief. We were arrayed in battle against 
men who had been trained through all the 
years of their manhood, the whole course 
of whose lives had been shaped, for this 
Day. And we had to meet them with — 
clerks ! It seemed hopeless and a mockery. 
But when he saw Sydney Baxter the chief 
realised that often when the spirit is willing 
the flesh becomes strong; that the British 
fighting breed was not dead, though the 
black office coat had misled the German. 



42 ONE YOUNG MAN 

How many times have you and I said "he 
was the last man I should have thought 
would have made a soldier. ,, Well, Syd- 
ney Baxter was that last man. And he 
made a first-class soldier. Let this country 
never forget it. He, and the thousands like 
him, when hopelessly outnumbered and out- 
gunned, fought the Prussian Guard, the 
most finished product of the German mili- 
tary machine, and halted them, held them, 
beat them. Later in more equal fight they 
thrashed them. Think of it in the light of 
history. The greatest and most wonderfully 
equipped and trained army the world has 
ever known beaten in fair fight by an army of 
clerks, schoolmasters, stockbrokers, Univer- 
sity men, street waifs, shopkeepers, labour- 
ers, counter-jumpers, most of whom did not 
know one end of a rifle from the other when 
war was declared. Sidney Baxter was one 
of that army. That is why I am telling his 
story. It will make strange and very salutary 
reading for Prussian arrogance — some day. 



ONE YOUNG MAN ON ACTIVE 
SERVICE 



CHAPTER IV 

ONE YOUNG MAN ON ACTIVE SERVICE 



Sydney Baxter was sent with his unit to 
Rouen. 

We were tightly packed in a small tent at 
Rouen Camp — so he writes. The following 
morning and afternoon we were busily en- 
gaged in being fitted out with extra equip- 
ment and ammunition and so did not have 
time to look around. We had great hopes, 
however, of seeing the city in the evening, 
but we had to "Stand by" and on no account 
leave camp. This was horrible. The tents 
were too dark to play cards, we had no read- 
ing matter or letters to answer, and once 
more seemed doomed to an evening of deadly 
dreariness. However, we decided to patrol 
the camp, my chum and I. As we walked 

45 



46 ONE YOUNG MAN 

off together we little dreamed that exactly 
one month from that day he was to be 
called upon to pay the supreme sacrifice of 
all. We walked round that camp, feeling 
that in each other we had our only link with 
home, with past associations. We did not 
speak much. Each had his own thoughts, 
each was subconsciously leaning on the other 
for support, for the coming unknown experi- 
ences. It was a cold March evening, and 
for want of anything to do, and in the hope 
of getting a little warmth, we decided to 
go back to our tent and turn in. I have tried 
to give an idea of how we were feeling; it 
can be summed up as tired and cold — and a 
bit homesick. 

It was just then that we spotted a tent 
with the sign of "The Red Triangle." We 
had visions of hot tea. An oasis in the desert 
could not have been more welcome. We en- 
tered the large tent; it was very full, and 
a long line was patiently awaiting the turn 
for purchasing. There was no shouting, no 
pushing or elbowing to get up to the front 
and be served first. The tent was really 
and truly a haven of peace — such a welcome 



ONE YOUNG MAN ON ACTIVE SERVICE 47 

port of call. On the small tables were maga- 
zines and "Blighty" newspapers, paper and 
envelopes were given for the asking, and a 
gramophone was grinding out the tunes we 
all loved. We sat at one of the tables, so 
thankful for such a change of scene, and for 
the warmth of the hot tea. The same wel- 
come, the same homely atmosphere, were 
here as in the other Y.M. centres. One felt, 
one was made to feel, that his was the right 
to enter and stay and enjoy himself each in 
his own way, and that is why the Y.M. is so 
popular, and why both the taciturn and the 
jocular find their way by common consent 
to these Y.M.C.A. tents. 

In a few days came the order to proceed 
to Ypres. 

We swung round into the station yard, 
and were allotted to our compartments, 
fondly imagining we should be off in a few 
minutes. We took off our equipment and 
other paraphernalia, and settled down for 
our journey. A minute or so afterwards the 
order was passed down that the train would 



48 ONE YOUNG MAN 

not start before 7 o'clock, and that men 
might leave their compartments but not the 
station. Here was a fine look-out. It was 
only about 2 o'clock, and we had to look for- 
ward to at least five hours of weary wait- 
ing, without anything hot to drink and only 
bully and biscuits to eat. It was not a pleas- 
ant prospect, you will agree, but apparently 
it was nothing out of the usual, for the "As- 
sociation of the Red Triangle" was ready 
and waiting for us, and had a large can- 
teen, run entirely by ladies, on the station. 
Here we were able to provide for our jour- 
ney, fill our water-bottles with tea and our 
haversacks with ham, rolls, and fruit. This 
was the best refreshment room I have been 
into, and it was our last glimpse of English 
ladies for many months. These ladies are 
doing a splendid and most self-sacrificing 
work, for their hours are long and their 
duties heavy. I wonder if it has ever oc- 
curred to them how much their presence 
meant to us boys. For many they were the 
last seen of the womanhood of our race. 

I wonder too. Will any of those ladies 
read these lines? I hope so — I'd like them 



ONE YOUNG MAN ON ACTIVE SERVICE 49 

to know what their presence meant to 
one of the boys they have been serving so 
well. They will have their reward. I should 
like them to have just one word of a Tom- 
my's thanks now. 

In our little compartment of six, Sydney 
Baxter continues, two were killed within a 
month and one wounded ; the other three sur- 
vived until the first of July, when one was 
killed, one was taken a prisoner of war, and 
I was wounded and rendered unfit for fur- 
ther service. When at last our train started, 
amid rousing cheers for the ladies and a flut- 
tering of white handkerchiefs from the little 
group on the station platform, we seemed to 
leave the last of civilisation behind. 

Before midnight we were under shell-fire 
in the Infantry Barracks of Ypres. 

My word (writes Sydney Baxter to his 
mother), we were tired at the end of the 
journey. We are stationed in the military 
barracks of the city, and have had a chance 
of looking round the town. The buildings, 
especially the cathedral, are very much dam- 



50 ONE YOUNG MAN 

aged. The only discomforts are the lack 
of food and the absence of money to buy it. 
Both G. and I landed here without a penny, 
but managed to borrow enough to buy a 
loaf. We know now what it is to be hun- 
gry; we have % lb. of bread a day only, and 
no milk in the tea, so you can see that what 
you want you must buy, and it's terribly ex- 
pensive here, 6d. for a loaf, etc. But we shall 
be paid in a day or so. The only things 
which are really necessary, and which we 
cannot get here, are candles and Oxo cubes. 
Although I don't want to be a burden to you, 
I should like you to send i lb. of candles and 
some cubes. The candles are used for boil- 
ing water or tea, etc., in the trenches, and 
it is the only way we can get anything hot. 
Of course anything in the way of food is ac- 
ceptable, but I can understand that you have 
enough to do without extra trouble and ex- 
pense. Anyway, should any kind friends 
wish to send, please let them do so. 

We are two miles from trenches, and shall 
be going in on Sunday. A few shells are 
knocking round, but we take no notice and 
sleep well. Well, don't worry. We are in 



ONE YOUNG MAN ON ACTIVE SERVICE 51 

comfortable billets and with very decent fel- 
lows, and they have shared their bread, etc., 
with us. 

I shall not attempt to picture Sydney Bax- 
ter's daily life in the terrible salient of Ypres 
in any detail, but that I may prove my words 
that he was a typical soldier let me quote 
one letter received at this time. 

My own Dear Mother, 

I have not been able to write before as 
we have just come out of the trenches after 
being there since Monday. Thanks very 
much for sweets and letters. They are very 
acceptable indeed. Thanks for P.O. We 
have now been paid, and so shall be all right. 
Chocolates, handkerchiefs, etc., are fine. 
Neither George nor I felt anything peculiar 
when coming under fire as I expected we 
should. We were all right in the trenches, 
which are very good indeed. They are a 
bit different to what I expected, but of 
course they vary. It seems to me safer to 
be in the trenches than out; however, it is 
bad luck if you are hit. No one was killed 



52 ONE YOUNG MAN 

in our company all the time we were in, and 
only three wounded, so you will see there 
is not much to worry about; and with some 
pay and parcels which I have received, and 
about twelve letters, I feel much better. 

Sydney Baxter often mentions his chum 
in this record and I think the following ex- 
tract from George's letter about this time 
may well be inserted here. The two boys 
were inseparable until the last and absolute 
bodily separation between the living and the 
dead. 

Everything is going on all right with us. 
We have finished our first taste of trench 
life, and on the whole it was rather enjoy- 
able. We went in last Monday and came 
out late on Saturday. The first two or three 
days were wet, so our opportunities for sleep 
were few, especially as at our part of the 
trench there were no dug-outs and our sleep 
had to be obtained in the open air. In fact, 
until the fourth day I only had one hour's 
sleep, and on the last day I managed about 
five hours. The chief trouble was trying to 



ONE YOUNG MAN ON ACTIVE SERVICE 53 

boil water, but we managed by cutting a can- 
dle into small pieces and putting this, with 
a piece of rag, into a tin, using the rag as a 
wick. 

Our five days and nights were on the 
whole fairly quiet; in fact, during the day 
hardly any shots were exchanged, most of 
the firing being done at night. During the 
day it was impossible to look over the trench, 
as we were only fifty yards from the Ger- 
mans, so we considered it advisable not to 
exhibit too much curiosity in case our health 
suffered thereby. At night time the Ger- 
mans use star-shells to illuminate the pro- 
ceedings, and they always seem nervy and 
think we are going to attack their trench. 
If we start firing a little more than usual 
they think it is the signal for an attack, and 
they blaze away like fury. We had a good 
example of this on our last night in the 
trenches. 

Someone started firing, someone else took 
it up and in no time the noise was like the 
final end-up of fireworks at the White City. 
From that it got much worse, and I suppose 
they really thought we were going for them, 



54 ONE YOUNG MAN 

so their artillery sent us a few shells; but 
they did no damage. Eventually they seemed 
satisfied that we were quite safe, so they 
wound up the proceedings. 

There is one lot here who, whenever they 
go into the trenches, shove their hats on their 
rifles, wave them about, and then shout 
across to the Germans to come out in the 
open and have a proper fight. Whenever 
this happens the Germans lie low and hardly 
;fire a shot. 

One advantage of being so close to the 
Germans is that they cannot shell us with- 
out damaging their own trench as much as 
ours, so that, although we heard plenty go- 
ing along overhead, we had none very near 
us. 



ONE YOUNG MAN AT HILL 60 



CHAPTER V 

ONE YOUNG MAN AT HILL 60 



Many have described in vivid, and none in 
too vivid, language the fighting in the spring 
of 191 5. This one young man went through 
it all, through the thickest of it all. He can 
tell a tale which, if written up and around, 
would be as thrilling as any yet recorded of 
those crowded glorious hours. But I prefer, 
and I know he, a soldier, would prefer, to 
chronicle the events of his day after day 
just as they occurred, without colour, and 
without comment. 

I print, then, Sydney Baxter's account of 
the fighting as he wrote it. I promised that 

57 



58 ONE YOUNG MAN 

this should be an altogether true chronicle, 
and it is well that some who live in the 
shelter of other men's heroism should know 
of the sacrifices by which they are saved. 
And then, too, as I read the notes he had 
jotted down, I heard a suggestion that we 
were all in danger of "spoiling" the wounded 
who come back to us — after enduring, for 
our sakes, the pains he here describes. 

For three nights the bombardment had 
been tremendous. 

It was 7 o'clock on the Sunday morning 
when we first got the alarm — "turn out and 
be ready to march off at once." We heard 
that the Hill — the famous Hill 60 — had 
gone up and that we had been successful 
in holding it, but the rumours were that the 
fighting was terrific. We were soon march- 
ing on the road past battered Vlamertinghe. 
Shells of heavy calibre were falling on all 
sides, and we made for the Convent by the 
Lille gate, by a circuitous route — round by 
the Infantry Barracks. We dumped our 
packs in this Convent, where there were still 



ONE YOUNG MAN AT HILL 60 59 

one or two of the nuns who had decided 
to face the shelling rather than leave their 
old home. 

We were sorted up into parties. Our job 
was to carry barbed wire and ammunition 
up to the Hill. I was first on the barbed- 
wire party; there were about fifty of us and 
we collected the "knife-rests" just outside 
the Lille gate, and proceeded up the railway 
cutting. Shells were falling fairly fast, as 
indeed they always seemed to along this cut. 
At last we got our knife-rests up by the Hill 
and dumped them there. Fortunately we 
had very few casualties. We started to go 
back, but, half-way, we were stopped at the 
Brigade Headquarters, a badly damaged 
barn, and were told that we had to make an- 
other journey w r ith bombs. We were just 
getting a few of these bombs out of the barn 
when the Boches landed three shells right 
on top of it. Many of our men were laid 
out, but we had to leave them and try to get 
as much ammunition out as possible. The 
barn soon caught fire, and this made the 
task a very dangerous one indeed. Every 
minute we were expecting the whole lot of 



60 ONE YOUNG MAN 

ammunition to go up, but our officer had al- 
ready taken a watch on it and gave the 
alarm just a few seconds before the whole 
building went clean up into the air. 

We then began to retrace our steps along 
the railway out to the Hill. Each man car- 
ried two boxes of bombs. Just as we reached 
the communication trench, leading on to the 
Hill itself, the Boches sent over several of 
the tear-gas shells. We stumbled about 
half-blind, rubbing our eyes. The whole 
party realised that the boys holding the Hill 
needed the bombs, so we groped our way 
along as best we could, snuffling and cough- 
ing, our eyes blinking and streaming. We 
stood at intervals and passed the bombs 
from one to the other, and had nearly com- 
pleted our job when the word came down 
that no one was to leave the Hill, as a coun- 
ter-attack was taking place a few minutes 
before 6 o'clock. We had then been at it 
for nearly ten hours. By this time the bom- 
bardment from both sides was stupendous; 
every gun on each side seemed concentrated 
on this one little stretch, on this small mound. 

Six o'clock came and I heard a shrill 



ONE YOUNG MAN AT HILL 60 61 

whistle and knew that our boys were just go- 
ing over the top. Immediately there was a 
deafening rattle of machine guns and rifle 
fire. And then a stream of wounded poured 
down this communication trench. The 
wounds were terrible, mostly bayonet. None 
were dressed; there had been no time, they 
were just as they had been received. Many 
a poor chap succumbed to his injuries as he 
staggered along our trench. To keep the 
gangway clear we had to lift these dead 
bodies out and put them on the top of the 
parapets. It was ghastly, but you get ac- 
customed to ghastly things out here. You 
realise that fifty dead bodies are not equal 
to one living. And these poor fellows, who 
only a few minutes before had been alive and 
full of vigour, were now just blocking the 
trench. And so we simply lifted the bodies 
out and cast them over the top. By this 
time the trench was absolutely full of 
wounded, and our little party was told to 
act as stretcher-bearers, and to get the 
stretcher cases down. We were only too 
glad to do something to help. The first man 
that my chum and I carried died half-way 



62 ONE YOUNG MAN 

down the cutting. We felt sorry for him, 
but could do nothing. He was dead. So 
we lifted his body on to the side of the track 
and returned for the living. This work lasted 
some considerable time, and when more 
stretcher bearers came up, most of the 
cases had been carried down, so we returned 
to the Convent exhausted, nerve-shaken, and 
very glad of the opportunity of a few hours' 
sleep. The sights we had seen, the nerve- 
racking heavy shelling had upset our chaps 
pretty badly. Many of them sobbed. To 
see and hear a man sob is terrible, almost as 
terrible as some of the wounds I have seen — 
and they have been very awful. However, 
as quite a number of the men had only re- 
cently come out, it was natural enough that 
we should be upset by this ordeal. Time 
and repeated experiences of this kind 
toughen if they do not harden a man, — but 
for many this was the first experience. 

Early the next morning the whole bat- 
talion made a move nearer to the Hill. For 
the greater part of the day we stood to in 
dug-outs on the side of the railway embank- 
ment, but at dusk we lined up and received 



ONE YOUNG MAN AT HILL 60 63 

instructions as to the work we had to do 
that night and the following day. Our of- 
ficers told us that we were going to the Hill 
to hold off all counter-attacks, and that if 
any man on the way up was wounded no one 
was to stay with him. He must be left to 
wait for the stretcher-bearers. Every man 
would be needed for the coming struggle, 
and although it seemed almost too hard that 
one must see his chum struck down and be 
unable to stop and bind up his wounds, there 
was no doubt that the order was very neces- 
sary. 

We started off in single file by platoons. 
This time we did not go up the cutting, but 
made our way round by the reservoir and 
the dilapidated village of Zillebeke. The 
first man to go down was one of my own 
section. We remembered the order not to 
stop, although the temptation was very 
strong. So we left him, wishing him the 
best of luck and hoping that he would soon 
be in Blighty. After this the casualties came 
faster and faster as we entered into the shell- 
swept area. The machine guns were sweep- 
ing round and were making havoc in our 



64 ONE YOUNG MAN 

ranks. Gradually we drew near to the little 
wood just beside Hill 60, and were told to 
occupy any dug-outs there until further or- 
ders. It was at this time that the whizz- 
bang shell made its debut. We had not en- 
countered this kind of shell before; it was 
one that gave absolutely no warning and 
was used for quite small ranges. 

We had been in these dug-outs for about 
half an hour when we were told to fall in 
and each man to carry two boxes of bombs. 
We then went into the communication 
trench of the old front line. At this stage 
our company commander was wounded. 

However, we got on to the Hill, and each 
man was detailed — some for firing, some for 
bombing, and some for construction. All 
the trenches were blown in entirely, and a 
large number of us, including my chum and 
myself, were detailed for this construction 
work. Under heavy shelling we tried to 
build up the blown-in portions of the 
trenches. This was just at a corner lead- 
ing right on to the Hill and part of our old 
front line. We laboured here all night 
through. Just before dawn the shelling in- 



ONE YOUNG MAN AT HILL CO 65 

creased, and the bombardment grew very 
terrific. All possible were rushed up into 
the crater to take the places of the fallen. 
Casualties were terrible, and the wounded 
came past our corner in one stream ; several 
of my own friends were amongst them, and 
two of them, who had come out with me, 
were killed just a few yards away. This ter- 
rific cannonade continued until dawn, when 
things quietened down a little. Every one's 
nerves were on edge, and all of us were 
thoroughly tired out. In every part of the 
trench lay numbers of dead bodies; in fact, 
to move about, one had to climb over them. 
I sat down, for some time done to the 
world, on what I thought was a sandbag. I 
discovered afterwards it was a dead body. 
Shortly afterwards we were relieved by 
another regiment, and in small parties of 
tens made our way back into Ypres. This 
was done in daylight, and we were spotted 
and shelled by the Boches. However, we 
were only too glad to get away from that 
ghastly hell, and literally tore along the 
hedges down past the reservoir into Ypres. 
At the hospital, at the other end of the town, 



66 ONE YOUNG MAN 

the remnants of the battalion were collected, 
and it was there that Sir Horace Smith- 
Dorrien spoke to us, congratulating our bat- 
talion on its stand the night before. Worn 
out, we lined up and marched back along 
the road to Vlamertinghe, fondly imagining 
we were going back to our well-earned rest 
(as a matter of fact that was the pro- 
gramme), but we had not been in these huts 
more than half an hour when down the road 
from St. Julien there rushed one long col- 
umn of transports, riderless horses, and 
wounded (mostly of the French Algerian 
regiments). And everywhere was the cry, 
"The Boches have broken through!" 

Orders were soon forthcoming, and we 
turned out, loaded magazines, and marched 
off in the direction from which the Boches 
were supposed to be coming. On our way 
up many dispatch riders passed, and each 
one had the same comforting message — 
''The Canadians are holding them." We 
went no further, but received orders to dig 
ourselves in across the road, and that in the 
event of the Boches getting as far as this 
we were to hold them until the last man. 



ONE YOUXG MAN AT HILL 60 67 

Fortunately the splendid Canadians had not 
only held their ground, but with terrible 
losses had pushed the enemy two or three 
miles back; had, in fact, practically regained 
all the ground lost. 

At nightfall we drew picks and shovels 
and made our way in the direction of St. 
Julien. We got to the Yser Canal, and in 
crossing the bridge met the batch of 
wounded coming back. This was not heart- 
ening, but certainly gave all of us a keener 
desire to get to grips. On the side of the 
banks of the Yser we were formed into three 
waves and received instructions that we 
were going over in extended order to drive 
the Huns from the position. But the Ca- 
nadians had done so grandly that we were 
not needed until the following morning, 
when, in broad daylight, the remnants of the 
once whole battalion, in single file, made 
their way along the hedges, taking advan- 
tage of every possible cover, up to the vil- 
lage of St. Jean. 

Much to our surprise we did not stop 
there, but went right through and came 
within view of the Boches. Immediately we 



68 ONE YOUNG MAN 

were under the special care of their artil- 
lery, and within a short space of time lost 
half of our numbers. We had to dig our- 
selves in with entrenching tools, but after 
having got fairly decent cover, had to move 
on again over to the left. We got right 
forward into the front line, and found it held 
by a mere handful of the Canadians, who 
received us with enthusiasm and were so 
heartened by our reinforcements that they 
were more determined than ever to hang on 
to the last. 

Meanwhile between the two lines our 
wounded lay unattended. Those who were 
able made their way, crawling and rolling 
through the barbed wire, into our lines. At 
dusk half of the Canadians occupying the 
trench made one rush after another to bring 
in their wounded and helpless comrades. It 
was a wonderful sight. Again and again 
these fellows went out, each time carrying 
back a wounded man. I was the extreme 
end man of our regiment, and so was right 
next to the Canadians themselves. Their 
officer, who was hit some time during the 
evening, came back with his arm in a sling, 



ONE YOUNG MAN AT HILL 60 69 

refusing to go down the line to the dress- 
ing station, as he preferred to stay with the 
remnants of his company. He was a most 
encouraging chap, and it was here that I 
noticed the difference between the com- 
panionship of these officers and men and 
those of our own army. The ordinary pri- 
vate would pull out his small packet of 
Woodbines and offer one to his officer, who 
would accept it with the same feeling of 
gratefulness as he would a cigar from a 
brother officer. 

We stayed with these Canadians for two 
days. For some reason or other the trans- 
port had failed to bring up our rations, but 
we did not suffer for lack of food, for what- 
ever the Canadians had, we had too. They 
shared with us all their rations and kept 
us for those two days. 

At the end of that time, during which 
we had witnessed several attacks on the 
right, we were relieved from those trenches 
and marched back to the farm on the 
other side of the Canal. But it was not 
for a rest; for every night we had to go 
up digging and consolidating the trenches 



70 ONE YOUNG MAN 

regained and digging communication 
trenches. 

It was on one of these digging fatigues 
that my chum was killed. He and I had been 
given a small sector to dig, and it was really 
a fairly quiet night, as far as firing was con- 
cerned. We had dug down a depth of about 
three feet and had secured ourselves against 
rifle fire and were putting the final touches 
to our work, which we had rightly viewed 
with pride and satisfaction, when the order 
came — "D company file out towards the 
left." We were terribly disappointed, for 
we had worked all that evening on digging 
ourselves in here and we knew that it meant 
a fresh start elsewhere. We were just clam- 
bering out when there rang out one single 
shot from a sniper, apparently lying in front 
of the German lines. 

We all got up with the exception of my 
chum. I did not for a minute imagine he 
had been hit, but merely thought he was 
making sure that the sniper had finished, 
so I touched him — and he half rolled to- 
wards me. I lifted him up and said, "Did 
you catch it?" All he could do was to point 



ONE YOUNG MAN AT HILL 60 71 

to his chin. He was an awful sight. A 
dtim-dum or explosive bullet had caught his 
jaw-bone and had blown the left lower jaw 
and part of the neck away. I realised at 
once that it was hopeless, for it took four 
bandages to stop the spurting. One of our 
fellows ran off for the stretcher-bearers. 
One of these came back, but he could not 
stop the flow of blood at all, and the corporal 
said, "No good : it will all be over in a min- 
ute/' I could not believe it at all — it did 
not seem possible to me that George, with 
whom I had spent every hour of every day in 
close companionship for so many months 
past, was dying. 

The party went on and I was left alone, 
but I risked all chances of court martial and 
stayed with my wounded friend. I couldn't 
leave him until I was absolutely certain that 
he was past all aid. He did not last very 
many minutes, and I knelt there with my arm 
round his shoulders, hoping against hope 
that something could be done. He was called 
to pay the supreme sacrifice of all. And 
with just one gasp he died. 

I was in a terrible condition. My clothes 



72 ONE YOUNG MAN 

were soaked in blood, my hands all red, my 
mind numbed. Nothing could be done, so 
I went and joined my company, but first 
made application to the sergeant-major that 
I might help to bury my chum. This was 
granted, and as three other men were killed 
that evening, a party of us were detailed to 
make graves for them. I can see now those 
four graves in a square, railed off by barbed 
wire, on the cross-roads between St. Jean 
and St. Julien. On one corner stood an 
estaminet and trenches ran all round. A 
chaplain was passing, and we had a service 
of a minute or two. The time was about 2 
o'clock on Saturday morning. We were only 
able to dig down a couple of feet, and these 
graves must, I fear, have suffered from the 
heavy shelling which followed, but I like 
to think that my chum still rests there un- 
disturbed. 

How I got back to the barn that night 
I do not know. I certainly was not my nat- 
ural self, and it was more a stagger than a 
march. It was impossible to realise that 
I should see George no more. And on the 
following day I had to face the still harder 



ONE YOUNG MAN AT HILL 60 73 

task of writing to his parents and to the girl 
he had left behind. 

To this, written by Sydney Baxter, I add 
nothing. Not to me has it come to dig a 
shallow, shell-swept grave for my chum. 
What words, then, have I? 



ONE YOUNG MAN RECEIVES A 
LETTER 



CHAPTER VI 

ONE YOUNG MAN RECEIVES A LETTER 



George's stepfather wrote to Sydney Bax- 
ter as soon as he received the heart-broken 
letter telling of his chum's death. To this 
letter from the father I devote a chapter. 
It must stand alone. In all the splendid an- 
nals of the war it is, to me at least, unique. 
I am conscious again that nothing that I can 
write can add to its pathos or increase its 
heroism or enhance its beauty. I leave it 
to speak for itself — this letter which will 
live, I believe, as the most beautiful expres- 
sion of a stepfather's love and devotion in 
our language. 

77 



78 one young man 

My dear Laddie, 

Our hearts are breaking for you, and our 
thoughts and prayers are much taken up on 
your behalf. All along we have united you 
and George in our petitions, and all that 
was sent addressed to George was meant 
for Syd and George. We never thought of 
you separately at all, but just as sure as you 
shared all in common, so our thoughts were 
for you both. 

George's call home was undreamt of by 
me. It was dreaded by his mother, but I 
hardly think the possibility of such a thing 
had entered into the minds of his sisters or 
brothers. I cannot explain it, but I never 
expected him to give his life out there. I 
knew many were praying for you both, and 
must have rested my mind completely on 
the expectation of our prayers being an- 
swered in the way we wanted. It was not 
to be. And at the first look one feels re- 
bellious in that God permitted his death to 
take place. But who am I, and of what 
account am I, in the scheme of things? Can 
I understand the infinite thought of God? 
Can I see the end, as He can? I can only 



ONE YOUNG MAN RECEIVES A LETTER 79 

bow my head, with a heart full of sadness, 
and accept the ruling of my God; and hope 
for a reunion with our dear lad when my call 
shall come. It was something for me, a 
step-father, to have had the fathering of 
such a dear lad. It is a heart-break to me 
that that is ended, and never more in reality 
(though I expect often in mind) shall I 
hear his voice or feel his kiss, or see the dear 
lad, as he used in these later years to do, 
standing in front of the fireplace talking 
down at me on the chair or listening to me 
talking up at him on Saturday nights. You 
can picture him, I have no doubt. Now all 
is over, his place in the home is empty, — 
but in the heart that can never be. His Mum 
(as he always called his mother) is heart- 
broken, but very brave. The dear woman 
is worthy to have had such a son, and that 
is praise indeed. If she was prouder of one 
of the children or made any distinction be- 
tween them, George held that place, and 
though I think we were all conscious of it, 
none of us grudged it him. And that is the 
greatest tribute that could be paid to him — 
when you think it out. We are all jealous of 



80 ONE YOUNG MAN 

Mother's love. We all want it, and if one 
is first he must be good indeed if it is not a 
cause of trouble. And that it never was in 
his case. 

Now, my dear lad, I have a proposal to 
make to you. We received some money to 
send things out to the lads at the front, and 
there is some left. Besides, George sent 
some home, so that he might get what he 
wanted sent him without asking if I could 
afford it, I suppose. Well, I am to send you 
some little thing every now and then; you 
are to get another friend and share with 
him, and you are to make every endeavour 
short of cowardice (of which you are not 
capable) to save your life, valuable to all 
who have the privilege of knowing you, dou- 
bly valuable to your mother, and precious 
to your many friends. We feel we have 
a personal claim on you, and I am writing 
you just as I would were you indeed my boy, 
and we entreat you to bear up, to do your 
duty, to be a brave and true and Christian 
lad, and to come back safe to us all. Oh, 
what a happy day it will be when we welcome 
you back home! 



ONE YOUNG MAN RECEIVES A LETTER 81 

We shall always think of you as partly 
ours ; and for what you were to and did for 
George we will ever bless you. Dear lad, get 
another friend to lean upon and be leant 
upon. It is a glorious thing — friendship. 
You risked your life to try and save 
George's. God bless you for it. I think 
He will. If you could read our hearts, you 
would feel afraid. I cannot write as I 
would like. It is in my heart, in my brain, 
but the pen won't put it on the paper. It 
couldn't. But it is there, a deep love for 
you, a great admiration for your bravery, 
and an earnest prayer that you may be pre- 
served to live a happy and useful life for 
many years to come. 

Mummie wishes me to say how her heart 
goes out to you, and how she feels for you 
in your loneliness. Be assured of a place 
in a good woman's prayers, and be assured 
also that all of us continue constantly in 
prayer for you. We did not know how con- 
stantly and continually we could petition the 
Great Father till you lads went away. We 
will not cease because one needs them no 
more. Rather we will be more constant, 



82 ONE YOUNG MAN 

and perhaps that may be one of the results 
of this war. Think what a power the pray- 
ers of a whole world would have with God ! 
If only they were for the one thing — that 
His Kingdom would come, it would be ac- 
complished at once ! May the knowledge of 
His all-pervading love dwell more and more 
in the hearts of the people of the world, so 
that wars and all kindred evils may cease and 
the hearts of the people be taken up with the 
one task of living for God and His Kingdom. 
May God be ever present with you, watch- 
ing over and blessing you, and may He come 
into your heart more and more, helping and 
sustaining you in your hard task, and bless- 
ing you in all your endeavours to be His 
true son and servant. 

Your loving friend, 

G B . 

P.S. We have not, up to the time of writ- 
ing this, received an official notification of 
our poor laddie's death. I felt I must write 
you, however. You will perhaps be able to 
read into my letter what I have been unable 



ONE YOUNG MAN RECEIVES A LETTER 83 

to say, but all my thoughts for you are 
summed up in "God bless you." Thank all 
the dear lads for their kind sympathy with 
us. 



ONE YOUNG MAN IN THE SALIENT 



CHAPTER VII 

one young man in the: saljent 



The city of Ypres, which Sydney Baxter 
had entered some few months previously, 
was now a heap of ruins. The whole coun- 
try was desolate : the once picturesque roads 
lined by trees were now but a line of shell 
holes, with here and there leafless, branch- 
less stumps, seared guardians of the thou- 
sand graves. On June 7th, 1915, he writes: 

We have been having a very lively time, 
a second touch of real life-destroying war- 
fare. Many of the boys have been bowled 
over. We have had a series of heavy bom- 
bardments — shells everywhere, so that it 
was a matter of holding tight where we 

87 



88 ONE YOUNG MAN 

were. However, I was again fortunate, and 
have proved to myself and to the Captain 
that I can hold my head whilst under heavy 
shell and rifle fire, although it's impossible 
to keep one's heart beating normal under 
such conditions. 

We are now entrenched for a day or two, 
but it is not over-lively. A corporal who 
was a fellow bedman of George's and mine 
at Crowborough has just been killed. The 
poor chap died in agony. 

It is indeed comforting to know that so 
many are petitioning "Our Father" to spare 
me, if it be His will, through all the dan- 
gers and hardships of this uproar, and the 
confidence that the friends have in my re- 
turn is very helpful. I have had the feel- 
ing that God will give me another chance 
of doing more work, but the thought of be- 
ing killed has not the terror it had. The idea 
of joining George perhaps gives this com- 
fort, but of course I know that it does not 
rest with me — unless of course by negli- 
gence. 

Will you include, please, two fat candles 
as you sent before. 



ONE YOUNG MAN IN THE SALIENT 89 

June ibth, 1915. 

My dearest Mother, 

Just a short note in reply to yours re- 
ceived this morning. I am still as per usual. 
Depends on how much sleep I get as to how 
I feel. As I was able last night to get to 
bed before 3 o'clock, and slept on to 10 
o'clock this morning, I am Ai. 

We got drenched the night before last — 
every one soaked to the skin. We came out 
of the trench, and as there were no huts or 
dug-outs ready for us, we had to stand out 
in the rain for over an hour when we ar- 
rived at our destination. As the weather 
changed next day we managed to dry our 
things. It was a funny sight to see chaps 
walking about in pants, and some with sand- 
bags for trousers. 

It is rumoured we are leaving here to go 

, but being a rumour it won't come true. 

However, I shouldn't mind a change. We 
are all fed up with this spot. 

The Alcove Dug-out, 

July 8th, 191 5. 
. . . How I long to be within the walls 
of our dear old church! Some of the fel- 



90 ONE YOUNG MAN 

lows can't realise or understand when I tell 
them my church life and work are so much 
to me. I owe all my happiness to God 
through my home and to the associations and 
work at the church. I hope it will be His 
Divine Will to spare me for fuller activities 
and to make up for the sins of omission. 

. . . Don't imagine for a minute we learn 
French out here. We rarely see a civilian, 
and when we do we say, "Avez vous du 
pain?" and the reply is generally "How 
many do you want ?" They know more Eng- 
lish than we do French. 

Later. 

The fight for Hill 60 and the struggle with 
the Canadians against the Hun at St. Julien 
has weakened our division, and we are to be 
transferred further south to a quieter part 
of the line. 

We are not sorry, for we feel sadly in need 
of a rest, and Ypres and its environments 
are literally a shell-swept area of countless 
graves. The H.A.C. has relieved us, and we 
marched back the other night to huts a few 
miles behind the line. The following eve- 



ONE YOUNG MAN IN THE SALIENT 91 

ning we marched still farther back, crossing 
the Franco-Belgian border to the rail-head. 
We are having a few days' rest, spending 
many hours cleaning up, not only our clothes 
and equipment, but our ceremonial drill and 
exercises. 



ONE YOUNG MAN'S SUNDAY 



CHAPTER VIII 

ONE YOUNG MAN'S SUNDAY 



July 2$th, 191 5. 
To tell you that I am at present on this Sun- 
day afternoon lying on the grass watching a 
cricket match no doubt seems strange. But 
that is what I am doing — and with quite an 
easy conscience. 

We are some miles from the firing line in 
a fair-sized French town. It's a treat to be 
away from the noise of battle, and from 
sleepless nights, and in a civilised place 
again. We are only here for a day or two, 
however, and then on we go — or at least that 
is the rumour. 

We had Church Parade at 10 o'clock this 
morning, followed by a route march, and so 
we are free this afternoon. 

95 



96 ONE YOUNG MAN 

Two matches are now in full swing, 13 
and 157;. the transport, and 14 and 16 v. the 
new platoons. The platoons have licked 
them by 30 runs, 61 to 31 runs. I may say 
my interest keeps wandering from the letter, 
although no slight to you is meant. 

Now please don't think that Sunday is 
taken up entirely with cricket matches and 
things of that sort. When the Padre can 
get round to our battalion there is always a 
service on the Sunday. Sometimes a full- 
blown Church Parade, like this morning, but 
these are not what we call Sunday services. 
The real Sunday services are voluntary ones, 
either in the open or in a Y.M.C.A. hut. 
The fellows that go — and there are quite a 
large number — really go because they feel 
the need of such a service — not because it is 
a parade and they must turn out. 

Our Padre has been able to get round to 
us about every other Sunday, when we have 
been out of the trenches. He is a very 
broad-minded chap — is not shocked to see us 
playing cricket on Sundays, for he realises 
that whilst on rest men must have exercise 



ONE YOUNG MAN'S SUNDAY 97 

and enjoyment, whatever the day may be. 
I asked him once whether he would feel jus- 
tified in playing a footer or cricket match on 
a Sunday, and he said that if he had been 
in the trenches for several days, and the day 
that he came out happened to be a Sunday, 
he would certainly play. 

The services are generally held about 10 
o'clock in the morning. We simply go down 
and enter the hut or tent and take our seats. 
There is nothing formal; the Padre is sure 
to be there first, and he sits about and has a 
chat with each man before the service be- 
gins. The hut is more or less divided by a 
curtain or something like that, which sep- 
arates the service from the part given up to 
refreshments, and we generally sit round in 
a circle. There is no set form of worship, 
and even the hymns are not settled before- 
hand. The Padre just says, "Well, boys, 
what shall we have?" and the men ask for 
their favourites, mostly the old-fashioned 
hymns, such as "Abide with Me" or "Rock 
of Ages." Then follows a Bible reading and 
then more singing of hymns. The sermon is 
generally more of a chat than anything else. 



98 ONE YOUNG MAN 

The Padre does not take a text, but talks of 
the troubles and difficulties of the day in the 
most practical manner. I remember one 
talk I heard on swearing, and another on 
drinking. The Padre didn't preach at us, 
he did not condemn us at all. He just gave 
good, sound, hard reasons as to why we 
should not do these things. These friendly 
chats with their sound common sense do us 
far more good than hundreds of stereotyped 
sermons. 

The service finishes up with many more 
hymns and the Benediction. But even then 
we do not leave. This particular Padre of 
ours has introduced what he calls "get-away- 
from-the-war chats." We sit round and talk 
about everything in general — of home, of 
books, and all general topics. His idea is 
that we should try to forget about the war 
for that brief half-hour or so. These talks 
are very popular; we get large "congrega- 
tions," and these services really do much 
more good than the official Church Parade, 
when the battalion often has to stand in the 
cold for about an hour on end before the 
service commences. 



ONE YOUNG MAN'S SUNDAY 99 

To this description of religious services at 
the front Sydney Baxter adds the following 
note. You will remember that he writes of 
what he himself has seen and felt. He has 
fought in the trenches, and we who have 
not, have got to face life from his point of 
view if we are to understand and help him 
and his fellows in the days to come. 

The majority of the men who used to at- 
tend these services would probably shock the 
ordinary church-goer. These chaps would 
occasionally swear, at times they certainly 
got too "merry." But this did not make 
them any the less good fellows. Unless one 
has actually been at the front, it's no good 
arguing with him or trying to make him 
understand the front's point of view. What 
man who has not been through it can even 
dimly imagine the after-effect of continuous 
bombardment and heavy shelling? This I 
do want to say: the whole time these men 
were at the services they were far more rev- 
erent than many I have seen in churches in 
England. On leaving they would probably 



100 ONE YOUNG MAN 

speak of the Chaplain as a damn (or even 
more expressive) fine chap; half an hour 
after the service one might find them play- 
ing cards, later on taking rather more than 
was good for them at the cafe, and yet there 
was absolutely no doubt as to their earnest- 
ness and sincerity or their attitude towards 
religion. On the whole they were a far 
cleaner-living lot of men than those one un- 
fortunately sometimes finds in a place of 
worship in England. 

They were real good sorts. They would 
never go back on a pal. 



ONE YOUNG MAN ON TREK 



CHAPTER IX 

ONE YOUNG MAN ON TREK 



It was on August Bank Holiday Monday 
that Sydney Baxter's battalion made its long 
journey south. 

We were up (he writes) at 2 o'clock that 
morning, and for two solid hours were load- 
ing up the trucks with our transport, G.S. 
waggons and limbers. It was real sport and 
we thoroughly enjoyed it. A long row of 
flat trucks was lined up, and as each limber 
drew up the horses were unharnessed and 
we ran the limber right along the whole line 
of trucks until all were filled. The work 
completed, we detailed for our trucks. 
Every trenchman knows those trucks neatly 
ticketed : 

103 



104 ONE YOUNG MAN 

40 Hommes. 
8 Chevaux. 

Forty of us packed into a van did not permit 
even sitting down, and we were very tired 
after our exertions, but the change of sur- 
roundings and the knowledge that we were 
for a time far away from the reach and 
sound of shells was sufficient to keep us 
merry and bright. The journey was very 
slow, and when we reached Calais it was just 
twelve hours since we had had a breakfast 
cup of tea. A few of us decided to run up 
to the engine and get some hot water and 
make some tea on our own, but the majority 
hadn't got any tea tablets or cocoa, and we 
hadn't enough to go round at a sip each. 
The cookers were tightly packed on a truck 
at the rear, and there was no hope from that 
quarter. And then once again, just as on 
other occasions where a chance of a hot mug 
of tea seemed hopeless, and where we were 
apparently doomed to a comfortless time, the 
Y.M. was at hand. There, as we glided into 
Calais station, we espied a long covered-in 
counter displaying the familiar sign of the 



ONE YOUNG MAN ON TREK 105 

red triangle. The order quickly came down, 
and was more quickly put into execution, 
that men could get out and go to the canteen. 
I have never seen such a rush. We were 
like a disturbed nest of ants. I wondered 
how on earth those ladies would cope with 
us, but I under-estimated their resources. 
As we came up we were formed into a col- 
umn of four deep, and only a few were ad- 
mitted at a time. At the entrance was a pay 
box. Here we had our franc and 5-franc 
notes turned into pennies, that the exact 
money might be given over the counter to 
save any delay. When I passed up to the 
counter in due time, I found that the first 
sector was solely occupied in pouring out tea 
into our quart mess tins, further along but- 
tered rolls and cakes were piled high upon 
large trays, and at the last sector cigarettes 
of all varieties, chocolate, and nougat were 
obtainable. It was a splendid array of good 
things served by the ladies of our own land. 
Though, of course, we needed and enjoyed 
the hot tea and rolls, it was as much joy to 
hear our own tongue so sweetly spoken. The 
change from the deep voices of our officers 



106 ONE YOUNG MAN 

and comrades thrilled us, reminding us of 
sisters and sweethearts just a few miles 
away, across the Channel, and yet so far 
off, for there was little chance of leave for 
a long time. What a pretty picture those 
ladies made in the midst of the khakied 
crowd, passing quickly from one to another 
with a smile for all! I am sure every one 
was over-stocked with chocolates and cig- 
arettes, for we all kept returning to the coun- 
ter to buy something just for the sake of a 
smile or a "How are you getting on, Tom- 
my?" from one of our hostesses. The 
whistle blew and we all made a rush for our 
trucks. The ladies stood in a body at the 
end of the platform, and as each truck passed 
waved and wished us good luck. The noise 
we made was deafening; we cheered and 
cheered until the little group of England's 
unknown heroines on the platform passed 
from sight. Our hearts were very full. 

And so we passed down into the Somme 
district, the first English soldiers to hold that 
part of the line. 

Here are a few typical extracts from Syd- 
ney Baxter's letters about this time. 



ONE YOUNG MAN ON TREK 107 

We are at rest after some days of trenches, 
and of course are not sorry to be able to walk 
about and get a brush up — apart from the 
catering side, which you can realise is no 
small item. The weather has been very good 
of late; and while we were in the trenches it 
was fine but cold, which makes life more 
comfortable. We had a new system of 
guards and work last time, and it was a 
treat. / never enjoyed a spell of trenches as 
I did that, although the time spent in work 
and other duties and guards was nearly 
twelve hours. 

Thanks for chocolate, which found a 
ready home. Girls are not the only ones who 
like chocs., judging by the amount that dis- 
appears here. Sorry my last letter was cen- 
sored. I am ignorant of what information 
I could have given; possibly I had a grum- 
bling mood on and was somewhat sarcastic 
about the many defects and inconsiderations 
in army life. 

Later. 

My Dearest Mother, 

Just a line to tell you I'm Ai. By the 
time you get this our rest will be over, and 



108 ONE YOUNG MAN 

we shall be entrenched. Thanks for socks. 
The stove is going a treat. We finished a 
fatigue at 4 o'clock this morning and made 
some porridge. It was great, and of course 
up in the trench it will be trebly handy. We 
are taking up two big packets of Quaker 
Oats, and with the tea, cocoa, coffee, and 
oxo we ought to do well. 

Glad to hear about Herbert's wound. 
Sounds funny, no doubt, but he's lucky to get 
back at all, for he was at Ypres, and it's hot 
there. 

From a letter to a cousin in the United 
States. 

I have sent you one or two photos which 
may be of interest, and which may be useful 
to check the "strafe England" of the Ger- 
man who comes to your office. Ask him, if 
in these pictures the Huns look as if they 
believe they're winning, and then compare 
them with those of our boys and of the 
Frenchies in the trenches, and with those of 
our wounded. My! there's just all the dif- 
ference between them! 

I also send a French field service card, so 



ONE YOUNG MAN ON TREK 109 

you now have an English and a French one. 
I'm afraid a Russian card is out of the ques- 
tion, unless I get sent near them in the Bal- 
kans; and when I think of that I also think 
of a ditty that we sing, which runs : 

I want to go home, I want to go home, 

The Johnsons and shrapnel they whistle and roar ; 

I don't want to go to the trenches no more. 

I want to go home, 

Where the Allemands can't get at me, 

Oh my ! I don't want to die ; I want to go home. 

You'd better not show this to that German 
or else he'll believe we mean it as well as 
sing it. We have a rare lot of ditties. We 
often sing across — "Has any one seen a 
German Band," or "I want my Fritz to play 
twiddly bits on his old trombone." We 
really have a good bit of fun at times ; other 
days are — crudely, but truthfully putting it 
—"Hell." The first month I had out here 
was such. You heard of Hill 60 back last 
April, and the second battle for Calais. It 
was during that time that I lost my friend, 
with whom I joined. Since we were thirteen 
years old we've been inseparable. Only 



110 ONE YOUNG MAN 

forty per cent, of the draft I was on are left 
and in my pocket I have a long list of chums 
whom I shall never see again in this world. 
It seems wonderful to me that I should be 
spared whilst so many better men go. Nat- 
urally I am thankful, especially for mother's 
sake, that I have escaped so far. Only once 
during the eight months out here have I been 
more than ten miles from the firing line, and 
ten miles is nothing to a gun. 

Well, now I must knock off for dinner, the 
variety of which never changes. You've 
heard of "Stew, stew, glorious stew"; per- 
haps, however, beer was the subject then. 
Well, I'll resume at the first possible mo- 
ment; for, in the Army, what you don't go 
and fetch you never see, and then again, 
first come first served, last man the groats. 

Here we are again ; I was last for dinner, 
but didn't do badly by reason of it. I am 
writing this at a house which our Chaplain 
has put at our disposal. It's quite a treat to 
sit on a chair and write at a table, after sit- 
ting on the ground with knees up and a bad 
light. 



ONE YOUNG MAN ON TREK 111 

The trenches are in a rotten state now, 
owing to the heavy rain and the snow. It's 
li<:e walking- on a sponge about eighteen 
ir.ches deep. Squelch, squelch you go and 
not infrequently get stuck; parts are knee 
deep in water, and icy cold water trickling 
into your boots is the reverse to pleasant or 
warm. Then the rain trickles through the 
dug-out roof — that caps it. I really don't 
think there can be anything more irritating 
than the drip, drip in the region of the head. 
Then of course your hands are covered in 
mud, for as you walk along you need your 
hands to keep your balance, and the sides are 
all muddy as well. You come inside then 
and eat your quarter of a loaf for breakfast 
and go without for tea — the usual ration is 
one-third of a loaf, which generally is found 
sufficient. We get jam, too, and bacon 
daily, butter three times a week, and stew 
for dinner every day in trenches or not. 

Our sergeant took us to the whiz-bangs 
concert party last night. It was Ai — one 
chap makes his fiddle absolutely speak. He 
played that Volunteer Organist and parts of 
Henry VIII, the basso sang "Will o' the 



112 ONE YOUNG MAN 

" 

Wisp," and most of the other songs were old 
'uns. I tell you, you wouldn't believe we hsd 
such things a couple of miles behind the lire. 
On Sunday I went to church. It was the 
hall that the concert party use. Right glad 
we were to sing the old hymns again, for we 
only get one Sunday in two months dov/n 
here on rest. We had five bandsmen to keep 
us in tune, and, with a good sermon, the 
evening was both enjoyable and helpful. 
Afterwards we came back and I had a dis- 
cussion with two others on Christianity, the 
work of the Church, Salvation Army, 
Y.M.C.A., and other such organisations. It 
was very interesting, for one of them was an 
out-and-out atheist who was under the im- 
pression that Christians were all hypocrites, 
cranks, and prigs. 

The last extract from a letter to Sydney 
Baxter's office. 

My! I should like to be back working at 
the business in any Dept. I reckon I shall 
not be much good the first six months, know- 
ing practically nothing of what has hap- 
pened since this time last year. However, 



ONE YOUNG MAN ON TKEK 113 

no doubt, they'll find me a job somewhere. 
They'll certainly find me very keen. They 
say this life spoils you for the office, but I 
shan't be sorry to return to it. Mind you, I 
feel very much fitter and stronger in eye- 
sight, less neuralgia and headache than be- 
fore; but I shall go in for more fresh air 
and bring up the balance that way. 

The trenches are in a lively state now, all 
mud and water; however, now November 
has come I expect they will generally be in a 
damper state, and so we shall have to get 
used to it, as we had to last March. 

It has rained every day, and I can tell you 
we've been very fed up at times. It's hard 
to see the funny side of things when soaked 
through, caked in mud, and tired, but we 
feel different already after a couple of nights 
in our blankets and a few square meals. 

I am keeping very fit, although the last 
spell knocked me up a bit; but a little rest 
will do wonders, and I shall be full fighting 
strength again and ready for the Hun. 



ONE YOUNG MAN ANSWERS 
QUESTIONS 



CHAPTER X 

ONE YOUNG MAN ANSWERS QUESTIONS 



Sydney Baxter's American correspondent 
has sent me a letter she received from him 
at this time which gives such an admirable 
picture of the everyday life of a Tommy at 
the front that it merits a separate chapter. 

I am glad (he writes) that you like the 
idea of Questions and Answers. I should 
never have thought of explaining some of 
the things you mention had you not asked. 
Here goes: 

Question No. I. — How do you find time 
to write so much? I've often wondered, as 
I should think you'd want to sleep when out 
of the trenches. 

A, — Well, for one thing, I am very fond 
117 



118 ONE YOUNG MAN 

of writing letters. To me it's not a bore as 
it is to some. To me it's a medium by which 
one can have a nice chat with one's chums 
(both sexes), and looking at it in that way 
you can understand. I write to you be- 
cause I thoroughly enjoy the little talks be- 
tween us. So much for the inclination, which 
has much to do with the time, as — where 
there's a will there's a way. When in the 
trenches the sentry duty usually runs two 
hours on, four hours off — all the way 
through. In addition, we get five hours' 
work a day. Now the total hours of duty 
are thirteen out of twenty-four: and as I 
only need six hours' sleep, that leaves five 
hours for cooking, eating, reading, or writ- 
ing. I used to have a programme somewhat 
like this: rest hours at night — sleep; rest 
hours before 12 o'clock — sleep; and in the 
afternoon read or write. Starting from 6 
o'clock one evening it works out: 6 to 8 
guard, 8 to 10 work, 10 to 12 sleep, 12 to 
2 guard, 2 to 6 sleep, 6 to 8 guard, 8 to 10 
breakfast and odd jobs, 10 to 2 work, 2 to 
6 read and write, and afterwards tea. This 
will give you a little idea. I only have two 



OXE YOUNG MAN ANSWERS QUESTIONS 119 

meals a day whilst in trenches, and cocoa 
once in the night. 

By the way, when out on "rest" we sleep 
up to midday the first day, and as we go 
to bed at nine o'clock on the following eve- 
nings we get plenty of sleep. The chief ad- 
vantage of "rest" is the change of food and 
more exercise, which the officers see we get. 
Whilst on "rest," it's drill, etc., in the morn- 
ing, sport in the afternoon, letters or read- 
ing in the evening. 

Q. No. 2. — Is a dug-out a hidden structure 
covered with sand-bags where you only sleep, 
and are there such luxuries as beds? 

A. — I think I could write a small book 
on dug-outs, then leave much unwritten. Let 
me describe two I have actually been in. 
My first was on Hill 60. It was a little 
sand-bag one that stood 3 feet high, 4 feet 
wide, and 5 feet long. This was shared by 
eleven of us, who had to take it in turns to 
sleep. This is the usual type of front-line 
dug-out. In most cases they are large enough 
to squeeze all men off duty into them, but 
of course shells and wet cause them to smash 
up at times. 



120 ONE YOUNG MAN 

Another dug-out I have been in was some 
20 feet deep with iron bars supporting the 
roof, and capable of holding one hundred 
men. This was not in the trenches. It 
had sticks some 3 feet high, with wire 
stretched right across, making eight beds. 
However, I always prefer the ground; the 
wire beds are narrow and not long enough 
for me. I'm over six feet. 

Q. No. 3. — Do you stay in trenches forty- 
eight hours without ever taking off your 
boots or resting, and how do you get your 
food up, etc., if you are on duty all the time? 

A. — When in the firing line a soldier never 
takes off his boots, clothes, or equipment ex- 
cept for one thing, that is to grease the feet 
with an anti-frostbite preparation. As for 
rest, you can see that with one man in three 
on look-out, you get a little rest, at least six 
hours, which I found enough. When in a 
big attack you are of course scrapping all 
the time. 

Rations are carried up by other men who 
are either on rest or in reserve. As a mat- 
ter of fact when on rest you are seldom more 



ONE YOUNG MAN ANSWERS QUESTIONS 121 

than three miles away. The rations are car- 
ried up in sacks by limbers as far as the 
transport can take them — it varies accord- 
ing to the level of the ground and activities. 
These limbers are met by ration parties who 
carry two sacks each, right up to the 
trenches. Every sack is marked "D" for 
company, "15" for platoon, and so we al- 
ways get them. We carry an emergency ra- 
tion of biscuits, bully beef, and tea and sugar 
in case of accidents. I have only once found 
it necessary to use mine. 

Q. No. 4. — In the battles you have been 
in, did you come face to face with the Huns, 
or just shoot at range? 

A. — Yes, once when we were driving them 
back, and once when they were advancing. 
Apart from that it has been shooting when 
a head shows. The nearest I've been in a 
trench to the Hun was 15 yards, but most 
of them range from 60 to 150 yards. You 
see we are a rifle regiment and so do not do 
many charges, but occupy places for snip- 
ing, and relieve the line regiment after it 
has charged, and by the rifle fire keep the 
Hun from counter-attacking. 



122 ONE YOUNG MAN 

Q. No. 5. — How do you get posts — are 
carriers in danger? 

A. — The letters are put in the ration sacks. 
The party often get some killed or wounded. 

Q. No. 6. — Do you get acquainted with 
French civilians, and have you picked up 
any of their language? 

A. — There are a few civilians in the de- 
serted villages near the firing line, and by 
dint of repetition and purchase I have picked 
up a little, but I cannot possibly spell it. 
You see we do not enter towns. 

Q. No. 7. — When one series of trenches 
is built, how does the enemy get a chance 
to build close to them? 

A. — How? Why, under cover of dark- 
ness, either by putting a line of men to form 
a screen and keep up firing with men digging 
behind, or by digging a trench at right 
angles, and making a T. The first method 
is mostly used as it is quicker, but more 
casualties occur. 

Q. No. 8. — Do you have any fear of air 
raids over the trenches? 

A. — No, because a trench is too small an 
object to be likely to be hit by a bomb drop- 



ONE YOUNG MAN ANSWERS QUESTIONS 123 

ping from a height. The flying men would 
very possibly hit their own people instead. 
However, they drop them on our rest billets. 
We get used to the shells, and this is only an- 
other way of presenting them. 

O. No. 9. — What about gas? 

A. — They very seldom use it now. Our 
helmets are so efficient, they cannot do any 
harm in sending it over. They might catch 
one of two who were slow in getting their 
helmets on, but we have gongs to give warn- 
ing. 



ONE YOUNG MAN'S LEAVE 



CHAPTER XI 

ONE YOUNG MAN'S LEAVE 



We had done two days out of our six in 
the trenches a little south of Albert. They 
were in such a state that it was impossible 
to walk from one post to another. The mud 
was over our knees and all communication 
was cut off by day. At night we fetched 
our rations, water, and rum by going over 
the top — a little-sought-after job, for Fritz 
was most active and cover scarce. I had 
just finished my two hours at the listening- 
post, and had crawled into my dug-out for 
a four-hour stretch. It was bitterly cold, 
and although I had piles of sandbags over 
me I couldn't get warm, and, like Bairns- 
father's "fed-up one," had to get out and 
rest a bit. Two hours of my four had passed 
when word came down that I was wanted 

127 



128 ONE YOUNG MAN 

by the Sergeant-Major. Hallo, thinks I, 
what am I wanted for? Ah, letters! I was 
a source of continued annoyance to the Cap- 
tain because of my many letters. 

However, he that expecteth nothing shall 
receive his seven days' leave, for that's what 
it proved to be. I stood with unbelieving ears 
whilst the Sergeant-Major rattled off some- 
thing to the effect that I was on the next 
party for leave, and was to go down H.Q. 
the following night. I crawled back to my 
dug-out, wondering if I was really awake. 
Eventually reaching our post, I cried, "John, 
my boy, this child's on a Blighty trip." No 
profuse congratulations emanated from that 
quarter, but a voice from a dug-out cried, 
"Good! you can take that clip of German 
cartridges home for me." This was our 
souvenir hunter; he'd barter his last biscuit 
for a nose cap of a Hun shell, and was a 
frequenter of the artillery dug-outs. My 
next two hours' guard was carried out in a 
very dreamy sort of way. I had already 
planned what I should do and how I would 
surprise them all. Next day I was busy 
scraping off the mud from my tunic and 



ONE YOUNG MAN'S LEAVE 129 

overcoat. I spent hours on the job, but they 
seemed very little different when I had fin- 
ished. 

That night I covered the three miles of 
mud and shell-holes to H.O. in record time. 
There I met the other lucky ones and re- 
ceived orders to turn in and parade at 9 
a.m. for baths and underclothing. There 
were no trousers, puttees, or overcoats in 
the stores, and so we had to come over as we 
were, a picture that had no fitting back- 
ground other than the trenches. At dusk we 
boarded the motor-bus w 7 hich conveyed us 
to the rail-head. That old bus had never 
had such a cargo of light hearts when plying 
between Shepherd's Bush and Liverpool 
Street. At the rail-head we transferred to 
the w r aiting train, and it was not long be- 
fore we were on our way. Bully beef and 
biscuits were on the seats, our day's rations. 
Never mind — we shall soon be having some- 
thing a good deal more appetising. We did 
wish we had something warmer than the 
water in our bottles, and at our next stop 
we found our old benefactors. This was an- 
other platform canteen, and we were able to 



130 ONE YOUNG MAN 

refresh ourselves for the remainder of the 
journey, which was all too slow. 

Two R.F.A. and one A.S.C. man shared 
the carriage with me up to London. We 
did not speak at all, we were far too much 
occupied with our own thoughts and visions 
of our welcome. It was Sunday, and there 
were very few people about when we got in. 
I clambered out of the carriage prepared 
to rush to the Bakerloo, when a voice at my 
elbow asked, "Is there anything I can do 
for you? Are you a Londoner?" and a host 
of questions bearing on my future actions.. 
It was a Y.M. official. He took me to the 
little box where my francs were converted 
into English coin, then to the Bakerloo Tube 
station, got my ticket, and with a handclasp 
dashed off to help another. Had I been 
bound for the North he would have taken 
me and given me a dinner, and put me into 
the right train at the right time. I tell you 
these Y.M. chaps do their job uncommonly 
well. 



ONE YOUNG MAN AGAIN IN THE 
TRENCHES 



CHAPTER XII 

one: young man again IN THE) tranches 



On his return from leave Sydney Baxter 
writes : 

January 2gth, 191 6. 

I am writing this in a small estaminet 
which is much overcrowded, and in which 
the conversation can only be described as 
a din. Madame is hurrying round with cof- 
fees and fried pommes de terre, whilst mon- 
sieur is anxiously trying to find out if we 
are moving to-morrow. He is much dis- 
turbed, no doubt thinking of the drop in the 
number of coffees apres demain. 

I am keeping very fit and well, and much 
to my surprise have not experienced any of 
the "fed-up-ness" I anticipated on my return 
from leave. To my mind, there is only one 
experience to equal a leave from Active 
133 



134< ONE YOUNG MAN 

Service — that is the final home-coming. My 
leave was pure delight from one end to the 
other. 

Shortly afterwards Sydney Baxter's Divi- 
sion was again on trek to a new position. 

We had stayed in, and passed through, 
many villages (he writes), had even had 
a fire at one, burning down one or two barns, 
and yet life was uneventful. Marching most 
days, or, when billeted, doing platoon drill, 
playing cards, reading or writing in the cafes 
or our barns. Company concerts were no 
good. We had heard all of our soloists' 
repertoire, which was not very extensive. 
There came the day when we marched into 
Doullens. Strange w r ere the sights of large 
shops and smartly dressed townsfolk — we 
were more used to the occupants of obscure 
villages. The Sergeant-Major came along 
with the message, "Smarten up and keep 
step through the town." We needed no bid- 
ding. A soldier doesn't want it, you know, 
when he becomes the object of admiration 
and the recipient of smiles from the brunettes 



ONE YOUNG MAN AGAIN IN TRENCHES 135 

of France. On past the Hotel de Ville we 
swung- — this was a G.H.O., and "Eyes left!" 
was given as platoons passed the guard. 
Staff officers, resplendent in red-tabbed coats 
and well-creased slacks, seemed to be show- 
ing the populace what fine soldiers they were, 
while the M.M. Police stood at the corners 
directing traffic as only the members of that 
unit can. Into the Rue d'Arras we turned, 
and outside an £cole de Filles we halted. 
There was our billet, the best we ever had. 
In the playground stood our Cooker. Up- 
stairs we were packed into the classrooms, 
with just enough room allowed to stretch 
one's legs and to turn over should one wish. 
We had our stew, and quickly rushed off 
to see all the town. In the square a mili- 
tary band was playing "Nights of Gladness," 
and we found a crowd gathered round the 
bandstand, many of them civilians. We 
stayed and enjoyed the performance, and at 
the Marseillaise and our own National 
Anthem every khaki-clad man from private 
to general stood at attention, and the latter 
at the salute. It w r as a grand spectacle, and 
one felt proud to be a soldier. We went and 



136 ONE YOUNG MAN 

had a look at the shops and into the church, 
until nearly 5 o'clock, when we debated 
amongst ourselves as to whether we should 
go back for tea or wait till 6 o'clock when 
the cafes open. 

Running into a group who had been en- 
deavouring to break the camera, we asked 
them what they were going to do. "Why, go 
to the Y.M., of course," they replied. "Is 
there really one here? What luck!" We all 
followed the guide. It was in a market hall, 
but liberally placarded with the familiar Red 
Triangle, and so*there was no mistaking it. 
Like most other canteens of the Y.M. it had 
a long counter and about twelve small tables. 
The ever-refreshing cup of tea and the good 
old English slab cake were in plenty, and 
we asked for nothing better. ... It was 
quite exciting to sit and have tea at a table. 
Afterwards there was a concert. The art- 
ists were A.S.C. men, and, although very 
markedly amateur, we enjoyed the evening, 
which was decidedly a change from our 
usual evening of cards. Unfortunately we 
marched away next day and so were unable 
to get full advantage from that depot. It 



ONE YOUNG MAN AGAIN IN TRENCHES 137 

was one of the Y.M.'s smaller ventures and 
lacked many of the usual articles of comfort 
that their huts are renowned for. However, 
it served its purpose. Troops were able to 
procure English cigarettes and chocolates, 
and at the same time have a good tea and 
a jolly evening. A toast to the Y.M. should 
always be drunk in hot tea, for supplying 
it to us in France. It's one of the chief 
blessings the Association confers on the 
army. 

The battalion was soon in huts some way 
behind the firing line. 

Sydney Baxter writes to one of his friends 
in the office: 

Glad to hear everything is O.K., and that' 
you are still smiling. Thank God for that. 
Whatever happens, still keep smiling. The 
greatest tonic out here is to know the girls 
are working so hard, and all the time will- 
ingly and smilingly. We know you all miss 
the boys as they do you, and to read that our 
friends at home are enjoying themselves is 
enjoyment to us. We are out to have the 



138 ONE YOUNG MAN 

harder tasks, and we want you all at home 
to have the benefits. That's why we feel 
so bitter against the Air Raids. 

Well now, I am glad to write the usual 
formula. I am very fit and well, and not 
having such a bad time; things are fairly 
quiet this side, but not for long, I hope. 
Every one is expecting a move and look- 
ing forward to it in the sense that it will 
help to finish the war. 

We have had much rain the last few days, 
and, as these tiny huts we're in are not water- 
proof, we wake up in the morning soaked 
and lying in puddles. It's the limit, I can tell 
you. However, we are on active service 
and so are not afraid of H 2 0. Now, as 
to my Eastertide. My Good Friday brought 
with it duty. I was on Police Picket, much 
the same as a village policeman. Our duties 
are to see every soldier is properly dressed 
with belt and puttees before going out, and 
that there are no suspicious persons around, 
that all lights are extinguished by 9.30, etc. 
It's not a bad job, but on a Good Friday it's 
tough. 

Sunday was as usual, — Church Parade in 



ONE YOUNG MAN AGAIN IN TRENCHES 189 

the morning, and free in the afternoon, when 
we had a cricket match. Monday was the 
worst day of all. We were called out at 
8.30, and from then to 12.30 had to clean 
up the roads, scrape mud out of ditches, 
and make drains in our village streets. Nice 
occupation, wasn't it? The afternoon was 
not so bad, but we might have had a holi- 
day. Instead we had to go and throw live 
bombs for practice purposes. The evening, 
as usual, was free. That ends my Eastertide, 
and in spite of what sounds a far from good 
one I enjoyed it immensely and count myself 
lucky to be out of the trenches for it. 

I ought to have mentioned earlier that we 
are in a village behind the firing line, in 
reserve; we shall be having our turn of 
trenches in a few days, and so we are mak- 
ing the best of our time out. The w r eather 
is glorious, and w T e are having a good time. 
I do not doubt that there will be some hard 
work shortly along the front, but it's diffi- 
cult to say what will happen. Only the folk 
in charge know. We only obey, and really 
it's just as well to be in the dark and so 
escape the worry beforehand. 



140 ONE YOUNG MAN 

The death of his chum George was often 
in Sydney Baxter's thoughts. He writes: 

May 21st, 1916. 
I have heard from ; he also men- 
tions to me the opportunity of revenge. I 
can quite understand and have felt that a 
life for a life would wipe out the debt, but 
when my mind dwells on these things I al- 
ways try to think what George would have 
me do, and I know his answer would be: 
"Why, the German was only doing his duty. 
I should have done the same myself." That 
is true. We fire, but we little know what 
suffering we cause. We do our duty and 
the Germans do theirs. It rests with the 
Heads as to clean methods or not. 

The turn in the trenches came quickly, and 
it was a rough turn too. The following are 
extracts from letters written to his mother : 

June 6th, 1916. 

I have been unable to write before, as 
we have been having an extremely busy and 
horrible time. From the day we entered 



ONE YOUNG MAN AGAIN IN TRENCHES 141 

the trench till now has been one series of 
heavy bombardment, an absolute rain of 
shells everywhere — a whole week of it. 
How so many managed to come out alive I 
don't know. 

We lost four killed in our platoon, includ- 
ing one of my section, a splendid chap, cool 
and jolly. Three of us went to see him 
buried yesterday — we had a short service. 
His brother is with us, a boy of eighteen, 
and is naturally very cut up. We have now 
sixteen graves where there were none a fort- 
night ago. Ten whom I knew personally 
are gone — such is war. 

All of us have had a shaking up. To 
many it has been their first dose of real grim 
warfare, and it has been a sore trial for us 
to lie out in front with shells bursting all 
round and no cover. The natural tendency 
is to run back to the trench and get under 
cover. However, I managed to pull through, 
and feel much more confident of myself, and 
the Captain apparently is pleased, for on the 
strength of it all I have been made a lance- 
corporal — only do not yet get paid. That 
will come later. Of course this is no big 



142 ONE YOUNG MAN 

honour, but coming at such a time as this 
it shows they have some confidence in one's 
ability. 

There are so many senior in front of me 
that the possibility of further promotions is 
somewhat remote. One of our majors has 
got the D.S.O., one of our company lieuten- 
ants a Military Cross, and a lance-corporal a 
D.C.M., and so we have not come out with- 
out honour. 

I am feeling O.K. myself, and by the time 
you get this shall be back on a month's rest 
right away from the line, and until I write 
again you will know I am out of danger. 
Your parcel arrived whilst in the trenches, 
and was very welcome indeed. As far as 
cash goes, don't worry. Don't send any 
money, and don't worry; there's no need. 

June &th, 1 916. 
We are now out on rest right away from 
our line, in our old village. We are not 
sorry, as you can imagine, and to sleep in 
our own little beds once again is lovely. I 
had a bath this morning, a nice change, and 
feel quite fit. 



ONE YOUNG MAN AGAIN IN TBENCHES 143 

Having now my first stripe, I have to go 
to No. — Platoon. They are a nice lot 
of fellows, and I shall be all right there with 
my old friend, another corporal, while an 
old section comrade of Crowborough times 
is platoon sergeant. 

As to wants — if you have an old shirt at 
home I could do with it. But I don't want 
a new one sent. Also a pair of strong laces, 
a nail brush (stiff) — that's about all, I think. 

June nth, 1916. 
Things are very active along the line, al- 
though very little appears in the papers. Our 
sector has been subject to heavy bombard- 
ments, and our first night in the trench saw 
three separate strafes, and the succeeding 
days brought a big list of casualties, which, 
by now run well into three figures. The first 
strafe, which lasted ten minutes according 
to our artillery observers, brought 1,100 
shells of all sizes from the Huns. I was half 
buried three times, and but for my steel 
helmet would have had a nasty scalp wound, 
whereas all that resulted was a dent in the 
hat and a headache for me. 



144 ONE YOUNG MAN 

There follows the last letter Sydney Bax- 
ter wrote to his mother before the great 
Somme offensive. He was facing the pos- 
sibilities himself and trying to get her to do 
so too. I have not cared to print this letter 
in full. Those who have written or received 
such a letter will understand why. 

My dearest oe Mothers, 

Owing to increased activity at the front 
I hear our letters are to be stopped and only 
picture, field, and plain postcards can be 
sent. Therefore you must not worry if you 
only get such. // I can get a letter through 
/ will. I do not disguise the fact that things 
are warmer, for you can read that in the 
papers, and anything may happen any day. 

Thanks for the shirt, laces, brush, cards, 
and notebook which I received this after- 
noon; I had just returned after taking a 
party to another village on fatigue. The 
P.O.'s have arrived regularly, thanks, dear. 
I had a good lunch to-day, steak and chips 
and fruit after, at a little cafe where we went 
this morning. It was O.K. 



ONE YOUNG MAN AGAIN IN TRENCHES 145 

As you will have noticed in the papers, 
our artillery has been very active along the 
front, and it's when the Hun replies that 
most of the trouble comes, for the Huns 
won't take it quietly for a minute and will 
send some souvenirs across. It remains to 
be seen what will happen. 

I like my new platoon very much, and 
I have had a very happy time these last 
few months. 

I often think of the time to come, apres 
la guerre, when we shall have the old tea- 
time chats, a smaller house and less running 
about for you, of the time when I shall take 
up my Church secretaryship again, and also 
my work in the City. I wonder what they 
will put me into. 

Well, mother mine, don't worry about me. 
I'm all right and will be home sooner than 
you think, even if I last the war through 
and — I might, you know, unless I get 
wounded. And if I get that I shall be 
home sooner, and if I get the only other 
alternative, well, dear, it's merely a reunion 
with the others, and a matter of waiting for 
you. But it remains to be seen. 



146 ONE YOUNG MAN 

Well, mother darling, I must now close. 
I'll drop you both a line every day, so don't 
worry. 

The next line that both received was from 
a hospital. 



ONE YOUNG MAN GETS A 
"BLIGHTY" 



CHAPTER XIII 

ONE YOUNG MAN GETS A "BEIGHTY' 



Sydney Baxter's Division was on the left 
flank of the British attack at Gommecourt, 
which met with great stubbornness on the 
part of the enemy, and resulted in heavy- 
losses. 

I was (he writes) in charge of the "Bat- 
tle Police" that day, and we had to accom- 
pany the bombers. We started over the top 
under heavy fire and many were bowled over 
within a few minutes. Lanky of limb, I was 
soon through the barbed wire and came to 
the first trench and jumped in. Some seven 
of us were there, and as senior N.C.O. I 
led the way along the trench. One Hun came 
round the corner, and he would have been 
149 



150 ONE YOUNG MAN 

dead but for his cry, "Kamerad blesse." I 
lowered my rifle, and, making sure he had 
no weapon, passed him to the rear and led 
on. We had just connected up with our 
party on the left when I felt a pressure of 
tons upon my head. My right eye was sight- 
less, with the other I saw my hand with one 
finger severed, covered in blood. A great 
desire came over me to sink to the ground, 
into peaceful oblivion, but the peril of such 
weakness came to my mind, and with an ef- 
fort I pulled myself together. I tore my. 
helmet from my head, for the concussion had 
rammed it tight down. The man in front 
bandaged my head and eye. Blood was pour- 
ing into my mouth, down my tunic. 

They made way for me, uttering cheery 
words, "Stick it, Corporal, you'll soon be in 
Blighty," one said. Another, "Best of luck, 
old man." I made my way slowly — not in 
pain, I was too numbed for that. My of- 
ficer gave me a pull at his whisky bottle, and 
further on our stretcher-bearers bandaged 
my head and wiped as much blood as they 
could from my face. I felt I could go no 
further, but a "runner" who was going to 



ONE YOUNG MAN CUTS A "BLIGHTY" 151 

H.O. led me back. I held on to his equip- 
ment, halting for cover when a shell came 
near, and hurrying when able. I eventually 
got to our First Aid Post. There I fainted 
away. 

I awoke next day just as I was being lifted 
on to the operating-table, and whilst under 
an anaesthetic my eye was removed. Al- 
though I was not aware of this for 
some time afterwards I did not properly 
come to until I was on the hospital train the 
following day bound for the coast. I opened 
my eye as much as possible and recognised 
two of my old chums, but conversation was 
impossible; I was too weak. The next five 
days I spent at a hospital near Le Treport. 
My mother was w r ired for, and the offend- 
ing piece of shell was abstracted by a mag- 
net. It couldn't be done by knife, as it was 
too near the brain. 

Thus far Sydney Baxter tells his own 
story of the great day of his life. I leave 
it as it stands, though I could add so much 
to it if I would. Will you picture to your- 
self this sightless young man, with torn head 



152 ONE YOUNG MAN 

and shattered hand piteously struggling 
from those shambles ? Will you look at him 
— afterwards? It's worth while trying to 
do so. You and I have got to see war be- 
fore we can do justice to the warrior. 

The piece of shell which entered his head 
just above the right eye opened up the 
frontal sinuses, exposing the brain. "It is 
wonderful," wrote the doctor who attended 
him, "how these fellows who have been fight- 
ing for us exhibit such a marvellous forti- 
tude." He had lost the end of his fourth 
finger and another has since been entirely 
amputated. 

To the amazement of all, Sydney Baxter 
within a few hours of his operation asked 
for postcards. He wrote three — one to his 
mother, one to some one else's sister, and 
one to his firm. 

This last postcard is a treasured posses- 
sion of Sydney Baxter's business. It runs 
as follows: 



ONE YOUNG MAN GETS A "bLIGII 1 \ 153 

July 4th, 1916. 

Have unfortunately fallen victim to the 
Hun shell in the last attack. I am not sure 
to what extent I am damaged. The wounds 
are the right eye, side of face, and left hand. 
They hope to save my eye, and I have only 
lost one finger on hand. 

I will write again, sir, when I arrive in 
England. At present am near Dieppe. 

"Only lost" — that seems to me great. 

Above the postcard on the business notice- 
board the chief wrote : "The pluckiest piece 
of writing that has ever reached this office." 
And by that he stands. 

At Treport Sydney Baxter had his last 
experience of the Y.M.C.A. in France. 

One of its members came round the ward, 
speaking cheery words and offering to write 
home for us. It sounds a small work, but 
it was a boon to those of us too weak for 
even a postcard, or those who had lost or 
injured their right arms. The nurses are far 
too busy and cannot do it, and other patients 
are in a like condition. I always looked out 



154 ONE YOUNG MAN 

for that gentleman of the Y.M. I was not 
allowed to read or sit up, and the days 
dragged horribly. Thursday evening came 
and many were sent to Blighty. I worried 
the doctor as to when I should go, and al- 
ways received the non-committal reply, 
"When you are fit to travel." Saturday, 
however, found me on board of a hospital 
ship, and at 9 o'clock that night we arrived 
at Southampton. Ant-like, the stretcher- 
bearers went to and fro, from ship to train. 
For some reason or other they dumped me 
in a corner with my head nearest the scene 
of activities, so that I was unable to interest 
myself in watching the entraining of others. 
I feverishly hoped they wouldn't forget me 
and put me in the wrong train. I was not 
forgotten by one person, however. He was 
not an official, not a R.A.M.C. man — no, just 
a Y.M.C.A. man, ministering to our comfort, 
lighting cigarettes for the helpless, arrang- 
ing pillows, handing chocolate to a non- 
smoker, with a smile and a cheery word for 
every one. He asked me where I lived and 
spoke cheerily to me of soon seeing my 
mother and friends, and then left on a like 



ONE YOUNG MAN GETS A BLIGHTY 155 

errand to another chap. This, as I look back, 
was typical of all the work of the Y.M.C.A. 
Its helpers are always at the right place 
doing the right thing. That is why they 
have earned Tommy's undying gratitude. 

Next day this one young man was being 
tenderly and graciously cared for in a hos- 
pital in Wales. He had finished his bit. To 
the office he wrote : 

July I2th, 1 916. 

The Hun has put me completely out of ac- 
tion, and I hope within a few months to be 
amongst you all again — for good, and 
certainly in time for the autumn session. 

The sight of my right eye has completely 
gone out, but as long as the left one keeps 
as it is I shall not be seriously handicapped. 
My glass eye will be an acceptable ornament. 
The left hand w T ill mend in time; when 
healed, it will be pushed and squeezed into 
its original shape. Apart from the wounds 
I feel very well, and my rapid recovery has 
surprised all. The first three days in France 
were critical, and mother was sent for. How- 



156 ONE YOUNG MAN 

ever, I pulled through and feel as active as 
ever — at least, I do whilst in bed. 

The hole in Sydney Baxter's nut — I use 
his own phrase — is healing. His hand has 
been more than once under the surgeon's 
knife, and he can now wear a glove with 
cotton-wool stuffed into two of the fingers. 
He sees fairly well from the unbandaged 
side of his face. 

The chief tells me that Sydney Baxter will 
have the desire of his heart: he will be "back 
at business in time for the Christmas rush." 



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